Transference
by LoireLoa
Summary: The Dursleys have a vicious scandal and someone has been helping them cover it up. What happens when someone catches on and destroying the evidence isn't enough?
1. Chapter 1

**One**

Loire Baker sighed. The brown haired woman had expected to spend the weekend relaxing, but it seemed the residents of Number Four had other plans. Her next door neighbors were – as usual - in quite an uproar. "I wonder what it could be this time…" she wonders aloud to herself.

A loud bang sounded from Number 4, followed by "_In_ boy! And no food for a _week_."

"Ow! Uncle Vernon! _Ow_! That _hurts_!"

Loire sat up a little straighter and peered out of her kitchen room window and into the window of Number Four just in time to see Vernon Dursley dragging a boy by his arm, which was twisted at an angle so odd it seemed unnatural. _If he keeps that up, he'll break the boy's arm,_ she thought.

"Shut up you little freak!" Vernon yelled, striking the boy with his fist. "I don't know how you did that to my Dudley, but you'll pay for your insolence!"

"I'm _not_ a freak! And I didn't do anything to Dudley!"

"If _you_ didn't then who did? Things like that don't just happen to _normal_ people out of thin air!"

"I don't know! I didn't do anything!"

"A likely story!"

"I'm telling the truth! I didn't have anything to do with it! I'd have to have some kind of super powers to do something like that!"

Vernon turned a horrendous shade of puce and struck the raven-haired child hard enough to send him careening into the wall.

_How old is that boy? _Mrs. Baker wondered._ I thought Pettie said he was Dudley's age?_ She watched through the window in horror as Vernon took off his belt and began whipping the boy, all the while holding his arm above his head at a decidedly perilous angle. _My God… is this… this isn't… __**normal**__? Pettie wouldn't stand for this, would she? That's her __**nephew**__ for Christ's sake. Her own sister's child!_ Loire was pulled out of her thoughts as loud _thud_ followed by a piercing scream. All was silent for a moment, and then:

"Get up boy!"

Loire couldn't hear what the poor child responded, but she could see that his too big shirt was bloody and his arm was bent at such an odd angle that she was _sure_ it was broken.

"Mark!" she called, watching as Vernon kicked the barely conscious child and locked him in a small cupboard located under the stairs. "Mark!"

"Yes!" came the reply from the basement. "Mum, did you need something?"

"Call the police!" she yelled, watching as Vernon stormed out of her view to some other part of the house.

"What?"

"Call the police! Tell them to send a medic too!"

"Why?" he asked, coming into the kitchen and running a hand through his brown hair.

"Vernon's been abusing his nephew."

"What? What do you mean he's been abusing him?"

"He whipped the boy, broke his arm, and then locked him in a cupboard. That's what."

"But why?"

"Will you stop asking questions and call the police like I told you to? I'm going to see if I can reach Pettie on her mobile."

"Yes mother."

Loire picked up her mobile and hurriedly searched for Petunia's number. _Oh Pettie, _she thought as she listened to the phone ring, _I hope I'm not too late._

**Xxx**

Petunia Dursley growled in frustration. Today was supposed to her day to herself, but that nosy Loire Baker had to go and ruin it! "Calling the police on my Vernon!" she huffed angrily. "The _nerve_ of her!" She slammed the car door shut and stalked into the police station. "I can't believe… that little _freak_! Just like his freak parents!" she spat. "You there!"

"Ma'am? What can I do for you?" replied the officer nearest.

"I'll tell you what you can _do_!" she said, "You can release my _husband_! I cannot _believe_ that you arrested _my_ husband, _my_ Vernon, on the word of that no-good, nosy Loire Baker!"

The officer raised his eyebrow. "Mrs. Dursley, Mrs. Baker saved your nephew's life. You _ought_ to be thankful."

"Don't you tell me what I _ought_ to be!" she roared, indignant. "That… that… _freak_ hasn't been anything but a burden to us! I don't know _what_ I was thinking when I took him in! I should have listened to Marge and shipped him off to an orphanage when I found him on my doorstep!"

"Now really ma'am," the officer replied, "I know you're _upset_ but-"

"Upset! _Upset_!" she screeched. "You _arrested_ my _husband_! _Upset_ hardly covers it!"

"Calm down, Mrs. Dursley." The officer soothed.

"Calm down! Calm down! I will _not_ calm down! Not until you release my husband!"

"Mrs. Dursley, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have you removed from the building. Do you understand me?"

Petunia seethed but said nothing.

"Good. Now, your husband is being held for child abuse. You can see him, but he won't be released. Not until you post bail. Do you understand _that_, Mrs. Dursley?"

She nodded.

"Good. Now, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to visit with him for a bit…"

**Xxx**

Albus Dumbledore was in a good mood. He'd finished all of the paperwork necessary for the upcoming school year, and was happily enjoying a lemon drop when one of the objects he had set to monitor Number Four, Privet Drive started flashing red and emitting low wailing sound. _So much for a peaceful day_, Albus thought, gathering a bit of Floo powder and tossing it in the fireplace shouting, "Cat Corner!" after a bit of whirling, the living room of one Arabella Figg came into view.

"Arabella!" the Headmaster called, trying to get the attention of a woman who was currently in the kitchen feeding her cats. "Arabella!"

"Oh!" she gasped, turning around. "Albus! I didn't see you there. What can I do for you?"

"Has anything unusual happened on Privet Drive? The monitors are going off, and I wanted to check with you. You can never be too careful."

"Yes, actually." She replied, prying one of her cats away from the fireplace. "But you'd better come through – it's a rather long story."

**Xxx**

Harry Potter was having what had to be the worst day of his life. Dudley and his friends had played their favorite game, Harry Hunting, all afternoon. After hours of being chased around Little Whinging, he'd finally gotten tired of being pummeled and decided to try giving them a taste of their own medicine. As it turned out, climbing up a tree and trying to ambush four people by pelting them with pebbles wasn't a very good idea. He'd nearly broken his arm when he'd fallen out of the tree, and Dudley and his friends had taken great joy in kicking him until a swarm of bees had decided to attack them. After Dudley and his friends had been chased away, Harry had gotten up and hastily made his way to Number Four, only to find that his cousin gotten there first and somehow convinced his father that _Harry_ had set bees on him. Despite how impossible the very _idea_ was, Vernon had believed it anyway, and whipped Harry until he had started to go into shock from loss of blood. _Then_ he had yanked Harry's arm out of its socket (or at least it _felt _that way) and thrown him into the cupboard under the stairs. At some point Harry had lost consciousness, and he'd woken up to find himself strapped to a hospital bed with a cast on one arm and IV in the other. _Cheers_, he thought glumly, _could today __**possibly**__ get any worse?_

"I see you're finally awake." remarked a voice from his right. "That's good. How are you feeling?"

_How do you __**think**__ I'm feeling?_ Harry thought bitterly as he surveyed the impossibly old man sitting next to him. "Terrible." he answered.

"Yes," said the man, stroking his long white beard, "I suppose you are. But no matter, Madam Pomfrey will sort you out in no time."

"Madam… Pomfrey?" he asked.

"Yes… But you'll meet her later. You should rest."

"But I'm not…" Harry yawned as the strange, bearded man waved his hand over Harry's face. "…tired." He finished, closing his eyes and slumping into the pillows.

"Sleep… just sleep Harry. Tomorrow, today will feel like nothing more than a bad dream."

"Promise?" Harry asked.

"I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Harry woke up the next morning, he was slightly disoriented. Gone were the soft mattress, beeping machines, and sterile white walls of the hospital, and in their place was… '_The cupboard? What am I doing in the cupboard? The doctor said that I had to stay overnight…didn't he?'_

A loud banging interrupted his thoughts. "Boy!" his uncle called, "Get out here and make breakfast! And be quick about it!"

'_Isn't he… I thought the bobbies took him away. The lady said I'd never have to live with the Dursley's again… didn't she?' _Harry wondered as he pushed his glasses onto his face and crawled out of the cupboard. _'Maybe it was just a dream…. Yeah. It must have been. Otherwise Uncle Vernon would be in jail, and I'd be in the hospital still.'_ He sighed. If there was anything that Harry Potter wanted, it was to be taken away from the Dursleys. _If only for a few days…_ Harry thought wistfully.

"Boy!"

He sighed again. "Coming Uncle Vernon…"

**Xxx**

Petunia Dursley was worried. When she'd gone down to the police station last night to find her husband _arrested_ for child abuse and attempted murder, she'd been livid. After much ranting and threatening on her part, she had finally been allowed to see her poor Vernon. She couldn't believe he'd been so _reckless_, but the brat had probably provoked him. Then the bobbies told her that they weren't letting him go, that there was too much evidence and that she 'shouldn't worry' because she'd be allowed to _visit_ him if he behaved himself… Petunia had done the only thing she could think of doing: she'd put the boy out. Left him at the hospital and told him never to darken her doorstep again. But that meddling old fool had come and made her an offer she couldn't refuse: continue housing the _freak_, and he'd make it seem like yesterday had never happened. How could she refuse something like that? It was her marriage on the line for Christ's sake! Dudley's _father_! She couldn't just let him rot in prison for dealing out some much needed punishment! So she'd said yes; she'd let that _freak_ nephew of hers back in the house. '_On the upside, I've got Vernon back.'_ She thought. _'And a one-way ticket to Heaven for being generous enough to house an __**abomination**__ like the one in the cupboard.'_ Oh, how she wished he'd _stay_ there! That she didn't need him to do dishes or clean house; to keep the lawn or finish Dudder's homework… How she wished, more than nearly anything, that she could just lock him in that cupboard and forget about him like and old coat. But alas, that wasn't to be. After what happened last night, that senile old man had told her that he'd be sending someone around to 'check up' on the boy, and Petunia knew that if she did as she wished somehow they'd find out.

That was another thing: the old man. Dumble-something had promised her that no one would remember what had transpired yesterday, but Petunia wasn't so certain. Surely there had to all kinds of paperwork involved when someone got arrested - paperwork that a nosy do-gooder like Widow Baker would undoubtedly uncover. How Petunia hated her! _'I cannot __**believe**__ she called the police on my Vernon!'_ she seethed as she watched the boy cook breakfast. _'The nerve of her!'_ Dumble-something might have given his word that the scandal would never be uncovered, but Petunia had decided not to take any chances. If she wanted to keep her life perfect and the skeletons locked firmly in the closet then she and Vernon would have to tread far more carefully from now on. _'And that'_ she resolved, throwing a piece of dry toast to the boy, _is exactly what I'm going to do.'_

**Xxx**

Loire Baker had awakened the next morning to find that something felt… off. While she couldn't quite put her finger on it, she was sure that she had forgotten something extremely important.

"Mark," she asked, setting the table for the two of them, "have you seen my mobile? I seem to have misplaced it…"

"It's in your coat pocket." was the sleepy reply.

"Are you sure?" she responded, spooning eggs onto her son's plate. "I could have sworn I put it in my purse…"

"No," he insisted, "it's in your coat pocket. I saw you put it there last night."

Loire frowned. "Are you sure? I mean, I don't see why I would… I didn't go anywhere last night."

Mark frowned at his mother, concerned for her mental health. "Of course you did. We both did. We went to the hospital to visit that Potter kid from next door."

Loire stared blankly at him. "We did? I don't remember going anywhere…"

Mark nodded slowly. _What's the matter with her?_ he thought. "We went to visit that Potter kid after his uncle beat him into unconsciousness. Why don't you remember? _You're _the one that saw it happen!"

"I did?" she replied, unconvinced. _Why don't I remember? I'm not __**that**__ old…_

"Yes! You told me to call the bobbies while you called Mrs. Dursley on her mobile! You met her at the hospital, remember? She screamed at you for calling the police and said that she'd "never allow that freak in her house again" if she had her way."

The entire time, Loire had been shaking her head.

"You… you really don't remember?" Mark asked quietly. Again, Loire shook her head. "You don't even remember the old man that came to the door? He was tall, with a long white beard, and was dressed in an odd, pointed hat and robes? He took out a stick and said something weird in Latin…"

Loire frowned. "No… Mark I'm sorry, I don't remember any of that. The last thing I remember was having a cup of tea before bed."

"But we _did_! That strange man must have done something to you! Gave you amnesia or something!"

"Mark," Loire said, trying to calm her son enough for him to think rationally, "There _wasn't_ any man."

"But there _was_!" he insisted, standing. "Why don't you believe me? I've never lied to you before, have I?"

"No, but I don't recall _any_ of that. Don't you think I'd remember something like that?"

"Normally, yes. But it's obvious that that bloke did something to you! Something to make you forget!"

"Mark…"

"He _did_! Why don't you believe me? Just… check the phone, ok? Check the phone, and check your mobile. The numbers will be _right there_! Then you'll see I'm not lying."

Loire sighed. _Mark's not the kind to lie about something like this, and he really does seem upset… I guess if it'll make him feel better, I'll check._

"Alright," she said standing, "bring me the phone. You said my mobile's in my coat pocket?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I'll check. But I'm telling you, I don't remember any of what you're talking about."

"But mum!"

"I'm just saying, don't be surprised if the numbers aren't there." She called from the parlor. _This is ridiculous!_ She thought as she rummaged around in her pockets. _I would remember something like that!_ She returned to the kitchen, mobile in hand, to find Mark already sitting at the table.

"See," he said, handing her the phone, "right here. It says 'Surrey Police Department, 5:14pm', just like I said."

Loire retrieved the phone from her son. _He's right_, she thought. She looked through the outgoing calls on her mobile and, much to her surprise, discovered 'Petunia Dursley, 5:15pm' among the list. Right above it was 'Royal Surrey County Hospital, 5:32pm'. Loire stared at her mobile. _If this is true, then… but why have I forgotten?_

"Mum?" Mark asked, tapping her arm. "Mum?"

"I don't understand how I could have forgotten something like that." She replied, obviously confused and upset.

"That _man_ made you forget."

Loire nodded. Maybe he was right; maybe some strange man _did_ make her forget. After all, she hadn't remembered calling Pettie _or_ the hospital, but she _had_, hadn't she?

"How… how is he? Harry?"

Mark was silent, and Loire looked up to see her son with a murderous look on his face.

"Mark?"

"They sent him back."

"What? But how? _Why_?"

"I don't know, but I'll bet anything that that old man was behind it. I saw him this morning when I was taking out the trash."

Loire was appalled. "Who would return a child to a situation like that?"

"I don't know," Mark said, "but I'm definitely going to find out."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Albus Dumbledore was in a very serious predicament. The previous day Vernon Dursley had hospitalized his nephew by marriage – Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. After Harry was sent to the hospital, Vernon had been arrested, and his wife, Petunia, had been furious. So furious in fact, that she swore to never allow Harry into her house again. The blood wards around Number Four failed, and it was only after promising to get Vernon out of prison and Obliviate everyone who knew about the sorry incident (save Petunia and himself) that she reluctantly allowed the boy back. The old Headmaster had then had to re-ward the entire street, call in his Healer, Madame Pomfrey, to heal the child's broken body, and then memory-charm everyone in the vicinity. In short, it had been a very trying day, and the Headmaster wanted nothing more than to forget the whole debacle even took place. _If Minerva ever found out about yesterday, _he thought morosely, _there would be far more to worry about than losing my spot on the Wizengamot. _

A sharp rap on the door interrupted his thoughts, and the door swung open to reveal a very livid Poppy Pomfrey.

"Albus how could you!" she screeched.

"I'm sorry?" He asked, confused.

"I went by the hospital this morning to check up on Harry Potter only to find an empty bed and confounded doctors who were under the mistaken impression that the boy had dislocated his shoulder after falling off his bike. A bike which, by the way, does not even _exist_!"

Dumbledore sighed. "Poppy, please, you must see reason."

"Reason? What _reason_ do you have for sending that poor child back to those horrid Muggles? I cannot believe you-"

"_Obliviate_," he said wearily, "You will return to the hospital wing. You saw Harry Potter yesterday to tend to his dislocated shoulder which he obtained when he lost control of his bicycle and ran into a tree. Just now you were asking if there was a way to contact Severus because you were in need of more Pepper-Up for the upcoming school year. I told you that I would take care of it. You were just leaving."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Good, tell him to take his time; I won't nee it for a few months yet, and I don't want to impose unnecessarily."

"I shall. Is there anything else?"

"No that I can think of off hand. If I do, I'll let you know."

"Of course. Thank you for your help yesterday."

"Oh, pish posh, Albus. You know I can't refuse a child in need. He really ought to be more careful."

"Indeed."

Albus let out a sigh of relief when the door finally shut behind her. "That could have been a disaster." He muttered.

"You should have been in Slytherin, you know."

He sighed again. "Phineas…"

"I know, I know. I'm just saying."

**Xxx**

Mark Baker was going nowhere fast – or at least his _research_ was going nowhere fast. So far, he'd spent an entire day of his summer holidays at the Public Records Office in an effort to find out information to support his theory, to no avail.

"Excuse me," he said, getting the attention of one of the employees, "Can you help me?"

"I can certainly try."

"Can you tell me where the criminal records are kept?"

"Why would you want to know that? Not planning any trouble are you?"

"No, ma'am. I was just… you see, my neighbor… There's a rumor that he's a – _you_ know…"

"Pedophile?"

Mark nodded. "I wanted to, um, make sure before I started repeating it. Just to be safe."

"I understand, that is a very serious accusation, after all."

"Yeah."

The woman smiled at him. "Follow me. Hopefully it'll turn out that those rumors are just that."

Mark only nodded. _Hopefully I'll find just what I need…_

**Xxx**

Severus Snape was not a patient man. Nor was he kind, lenient, or understanding. The surly Potions Master made no effort to hide his cold, snarky nature from anyone, so it was in no small amount of disbelief that he stared at his employer, Albus Dumbledore.

"You want me to do _what_?" he repeated for a third time.

"Make up a batch of Pepper-Up for Madame Pomfrey, then stop by Privet Drive and check up on Harry."

"What?" he asked again. "I can understand the first part, but the second? Albus, tell me you're joking!"

"I am not." The headmaster replied. "I told Petunia that I would send someone to check up on Harry. There was a minor altercation yesterday, and I want to make sure that nothing of that sort will happen again."

"But why _me_? I hated the boy's father – you really can't expect me to feel any differently for his son."

"Harry is not his father Severus, any more than _you_ are _your_ father."

"But why _me_? Why not Minerva or Pomona? I can hardly tolerate eleven year olds; you can't honestly expect me to tolerate a child of _six_."

"I wish that I did not have to send you, Severus. I wish that I could continue to put my faith in Petunia and her husband to do the right thing on their own, but I can't. As it stands, you are not only the closest geographically to Number Four, but you are also the only one that I was able to reach on such short notice. It is only one town away, Severus, and you do not have to stay long. I only need to know that the boy is being treated fairly. I know that I can trust you judgment in that."

Severus sighed. "Very well. But it will only be this once?"

"Yes. Aurora will be returning from her vacation on the Continent tomorrow. She has assured me that she will be able to check in on Harry for the remainder of the summer."

"And when school starts back?"

"We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Hopefully I will be able to convince someone trustworthy to take over the task."

Severus nodded. "If that is all…"

"Yes. Thank you, Severus. I shall leave you to your work."

**Xxx**

Harry Potter was sore. All day he'd been forced to work while his cousin, Dudley, had been allowed to play, and now, since his chores weren't done, he wouldn't be allowed to have lunch.

"But Aunt Petunia," he protested as she pushed him out of the kitchen, "I didn't get dinner last night, and I only had a piece of toast this morning! Please, can't I have a _little_ food?"

"No, now go do your chores. If you had been working like you were supposed to be, maybe you'd be done by now. Go on, get out. We don't reward laziness in this house."

"But-"

"_Out_ boy, and don't make me tell you again!"

Harry sighed. He _had_ been working. Really he had. He just wasn't finished yet. _I doubt I'll ever finish._ He thought miserably. _And even if I do, Uncle Vernon will only come up with more work for me to do tomorrow. _Harry's stomach growled. He was so _hungry_. If only his aunt would let him have _something_, maybe he could concentrate on his chores instead of the pain in his stomach.

"Psst."

Harry groaned. _Now I'm hearing things._

"Hey, Potter."

Harry looked up from his spot on the back porch. Someone was talking to _him_? _Nobody ever talks to __**me**__._ He thought, looking around.

"Hey, over here." The voice said again from somewhere to his right. Harry rose and cautiously approached the fence separating the yard of Number Four from that of Number Six.

"Where are you? _Who_ are you?" Harry asked, looking around.

"Down here. On your left. Your _other_ left."

Harry crouched down and looked where the voice had indicated. There, between two bushes, was a hole in the fence just large enough for someone to stick their head through; which, as it turned out, was exactly what someone had been doing.

"Hey," said a boy with chocolate-brown hair and honey-colored eyes, "I'm Mark. Mark Baker. I live next door."

"I'm Harry Potter." Harry replied, taking the hand that Mark offered him. "How come I've never seen you before?"

"I just started living here. I lived with my dad before."

"How come you don't anymore?" Harry asked, curious.

"My dad, he um… I just don't, ok? I live with Loire now."

"Widow Baker, you mean?"

"_Mrs. _Baker." He corrected.

"But I thought she lived by herself? Aunt Petunia said that Mr. Baker died."

"Yeah, but you don't have to go around calling her a widow. It's not nice."

"What's not nice?"

"Reminding people of the things they lost. It's not polite."

"Oh." Harry said. He contemplated this new information quietly for a moment, then decided it would be probably be best to change the subject. "You called Mrs. Baker by her first name. Does that mean that she's not your mum?"

"Well… she didn't give birth to me, if that's what you mean. My mum… died, a while back. I'm adopted."

"So Mrs. Baker _isn't_ your mum."

"She _is_." Mark insisted. "She's my mum in every way that counts. She looks out for me and helps me with my homework and she feeds me-"

"Aunt Petunia doesn't feed _me_." Harry muttered jealously.

"She doesn't?" Mark said confused. "Well…. We'll just have to fix that. Come on, there are some leftovers in the fridge that you can have."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to Mark. "Are… are you sure? I mean, I shouldn't. I can't."

"Sure you can." Mark said, pulling a section of the wooden fence free. "Look. Just climb right through here. It's easy. Well, not for me – I'm too big to fit through - but you should fit through no problem."

Harry shook his head. "I _can't_. Aunt Petunia says that I'm a freak and that freaks like me shouldn't be incon- incon…"

"Inconveniences?" Mark finished softly.

"Yeah."

Mark looked at Harry thoughtfully for a while before nodding as if he'd just figured something out.

"Sorry." Harry said sadly. He really did want to have lunch.

"Why? You're still coming, whether your aunt wants you to or not. I insist."

"But-"

"No buts. Besides," Mark said, pulling Harry through the fence and into his house, "you can't possibly be an inconvenience if I _invited_ you. Right?"

Harry hesitated at the door. "If Aunt Petunia ever found out…"

"She won't. I won't say anything if you don't want me to."

"Promise?"

"I promise." Mark guaranteed.

Harry nodded. "Okay… but only for a little bit. Then I have to go back and do chores."

Mark grinned and held the door open for him. "Sure. Do you like chicken?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Happy birthday to me!

**Chapter 4**

When Severus Snape Apparated onto Magnolia Crescent, he expected to complete the short walk to Privet Drive, ring the doorbell of Number Four, and find one Harry Potter – son of his arch nemesis, James Potter – whole, healthy, and spoiled. What he did not expect to find, was a six year old so hideously obese that it could barely walk.

That is, unfortunately, exactly what he found.

**xxx**

Dudley Dursley had been sitting on the couch playing Super Mario Brothers on his shiny new NES when, much to his dismay, there was a knock on the door.

"Mom!" he hollered, not wanting to get off the couch, "There's someone at the door!"

"Can you get it Duddy-dinkins, Mummy's on the phone planning your birthday cake with the baker." His mother responded. Dudley sighed.

"Fine! But I want _two_ chocolate cakes this year!"

"Of course dear, whatever you want!"

After pausing the game, Dudley got up from the couch and waddled to the door.

"Stupid Potter," he muttered irritated at having to leave the couch for something so mundane, "never around when you want him to be."

**xxx**

Severus Snape stared in shock at the being that opened the door. _Is that a child or a __**pig**__?_ He wondered, disgusted.

"Hi," the piglet said, "we appreciate the visit, but whatever you're selling, we're not buying."

"I'm not here to sell anything." Snape replied curtly. "I'm here on behalf of Albus Dumbledore. Mrs. Dursley should be expecting me."

"Oh." Said the pig-child. "Wait here – I'll go get her." The boy waited for Snape's nod before he toddled off through the house in search of his mother.

"Mum!" Severus winced. _That's __**certainly**__ a voice that I wouldn't want to hear on a daily basis_. Several moments passed before a woman appeared.

"Hello," the woman said, wiping her long, thin fingers on a crisp white apron, "what can I do for you?"

"Petunia Dursley, I presume? My name is Severus Snape. Professor Dumbledore sent me to observe the situation here."

"Oh!" she said, swinging the door wide, "Come in! Can I offer you a cup of tea? Anything?"

"No, thank you. I have only come to check up on the well being of the Potter boy." Severus declined, looking around. "Where is he?"

"Outside, doing his chores. You probably didn't see him – he's a small thing, easy to miss, really."

"I see."

"I can call him in if you like." She said, heading to the back door.

"That won't be necessary. I'll just observe him outside."

"If you're sure?"

"I am. It's better I observe him without his knowledge; it provides a better understanding of his character and behavior."

"Oh." Petunia breathed. "Well, he's in the back, tending the garden."

"Thank you. I shall not be long."

Petunia watched as the black-clad man swept off in the direction of her garden. _He looks so familiar…_

**xxx**

_So __**that's**__ how Lily's sister turned out._ Snape mused, stepping out into the immaculately tended garden. _Pity_. Looking around, Severus almost missed the head of messy black hair that could just barely be seen over an immaculately pruned rose bush. _He's got his father's looks I see._ Severus thought to himself as he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. _Hopefully he won't suffer his father's disposition as well._ After several minutes of observation, he decided that his job was done. Just as he was turning to leave, a strange noise stopped him.

_Psst_.

Severus scanned the garden for the noise, and was about to discard it as inconsequential when he heard it again. This time it was followed by a whispered 'Potter'. He watched as the Potter child stiffened then cautiously looked about, as if he wasn't quite sure where the voice was coming from.

"Down here. On your left." Severus watched as the child looked to his right, and nearly snorted in amusement when the voice whispered an exasperated "Your _other_ left." The boy crouched to look where the voice had indicated and appeared to take up a conversation with a pair of hydrangea bushes for a few brief moments. Creeping closer, Severus was able to spot a splotch of brown between the bushes. _Ah…_ he mused, _so this is the culprit._ He tuned into the hushed conversation just in time to hear Potter's confused "What's not nice?"

"Reminding people of what they lost. It's not polite." The brown haired boy replied. The Potter child was thoughtful for a moment after which he questioned the other boy on his apparent use of an adult's first name.

"Does that mean she isn't your mum?" the smaller boy asked the brunette head in the bushes. The bush-boy vehemently denied that that was case, insisting that the adult in question was his mother "in every way that counts".

"Aunt Petunia doesn't feed _me_." Potter remarked to the other boy. Severus watched as a confused look appeared on the boy's face, followed quickly by determination. _What exactly does he mean by that?_ Snape wondered. After several moments of persistence, the strange boy managed to convince Potter to have lunch at his home.

Severus waited until Potter had slipped through the gap in the fence before he walked next door to Number Six.

Severus stood outside the window as he watched the brunette – who was apparently named Mark – offer Potter a chair and glass of milk. The child was a lot older than Severus had assumed. In fact, one could hardly call him a child. The dour Potions Master was confused as to what this teen – who would be only a couple years shy of his majority, were he a wizard – could want with an obviously malnourished six year old. Despite the small matter of the child in question being the spawn of his most hated enemy, the snarky man had no desire to watch the child be molested. It was to his increasing surprise that all the teen did was offer the child all the food he had on hand, and, once Potter was situated, ask about the boy's life at home.

**Xxx**

Mark Baker was confused. In all of his fifteen years of life, he'd never seen a kid as odd as the one sitting before him. Harry Potter - nephew by blood to the dreaded Dursleys of Number Four - was short, pale, and skinny to the point of anorexia. As he watched Harry inhale his food at a rate that made him slightly nauseous, Mark couldn't help but wonder if his relatives _ever_ fed him.

"Harry," he asked as the younger boy gulped down his fourth glass of milk, "what did you have for breakfast?"

"Toast" came the prompt reply.

"What else?"

"Nothing." Harry answered as he finished his chicken and moved on to potatoes. "May I have some more chicken?"

"Sure. So," Mark said, placing another piece of chicken on Harry's plate, "You just had toast for breakfast?"

"Yup."

"Nothing to drink? No fruit?"

"Nope."

"What about jam?"

"Aunt Petunia won't let me. She says jam is only for members of polite society, not _freaks_ like me."

"Oh. What'd you have for dinner last night?"

"Nothing. I didn't finish my chores, so Uncle Vernon sent me to my cupboard without."

"What do you mean your cupboard?"

"It's where I sleep." He said, pausing to look at Mark. "I used to wonder why. Dudley has two rooms – one just for his broken toys. I asked once, but Aunt Petunia hit me with the frying pan and said that only _decent_ people get to sleep in bedrooms, and that I should be lucky they didn't put me in the shed."

Mark stared at Harry, shocked. "You do know that isn't normal, right?"

Harry only shrugged. "_I'm_ not normal. I'm a freak. Freaks sleep in cupboards."

"How do you figure that?"

"Figure what?"

"That you're a freak."

"My aunt and uncle said so."

"Did they say why?" Mark asked, disliking the Dursleys even more.

"Something to do with my parents, I think. They always say that I'm a freak just like my freak parents."

"How are your parents freaks?"

"They never said, and I'll get hit for asking. It isn't worth the extra chores. I hate doing them; nobody else does."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Aunt Petunia says that they 'don't reward laziness', but I think that's a bunch of codswallop. Dudley doesn't do anything _but_ laze around, and they give him everything he wants."

"So… let me get this straight." Mark said, pouring Harry another glass of milk. "You get hit for asking questions, they call you a freak all the time-"

"Abomination too. And nuisance. And tramp. And-"

"Okay, okay." Mark said hurriedly. "So like I was saying, they hit you, they lock you in a cupboard-"

"Only sometimes. They don't lock it all the time, just when they like me less than usual."

"They hit you, they _occasionally_ lock you in a cupboard, they verbally abuse you, they make you do all the chores, and they don't feed you. Did I miss anything?"

"They let Dudley and his friends hurt me, and they tell other people that I'm a delin- delinq-…that I cause trouble. Oh! And they never take me to the doctor's when I'm hurt or sick. And they take the light away."

"What? What light?" Mark asked, confused.

"In the cupboard under the stairs. Where I sleep. They take the light away when they lock me in. If I've done something they don't like."

"How often does that happen?"

"Four, maybe five times a week. Sometimes more.'

"But at least four?"

"Yup."

_No wonder he's so small and pale._ Mark mused to himself. "How long are you usually in there for?"

"A half hour, at least. When I'm really bad I have to stay in there for hours. Days even."

"What do you eat when you're in the cupboard?" Mark asked, concerned.

Harry laughed, clearly amused by Mark's ignorance. "You don't _eat_ in the _cupboard_, silly."

"Do they let you out for meals, then?" Mark inquired, hoping against hope that the answer wasn't what he thought it was.

"Nope. But sometimes they let me out to go to the toilet. And school. They always let me out for school. I like school."

"Do you?"

"Oh yes! I _love_ school! I can't be in the cupboard if I'm at school – the teachers aren't allowed."

Mark simply stared at Harry. "I guess that's true."

"Sure is!" Harry nodded. "Ms. Malloy gives me cookies and juice after nap time."

"So you eat at school."

"Yup!"

_No wonder he likes school so much._ Mark mused. _It's the only place that he can expect to be fed._

"Do you like it here?"

"Oh yes!" Harry exclaimed. "You're nice. And you offered me food. I haven't met your mum, but I'm sure she's just as nice as you. Nicer, even."

Mark smiled. "Well Harry, you can come over whenever you like."

The younger boy's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Really, really?"

"Really really."

"You promise?"

"Yup." Mark said, pouring Harry another glass of milk. "For as long as I live here, you can visit."

"Whenever I want?" Harry asked, hopeful.

Mark nodded. "Whenever you want."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Severus Snape was _furious_. How anyone could treat a child the way the Potter boy had been treated was beyond him. _Even __**I**__ wasn't abused that badly._ He fumed, mind spinning with the implications of his presence. _He __**knew**__._ He realized. _That's why he needed someone to check up on the boy. He knew he was being abused. _Severus closed his eyes in a vain attempt to quell his anger. _What to do, what to do?_ He couldn't tell the Headmaster – he was certain that the old man would Obliviate him on the spot. _But if not Albus, then who?_ Poppy was out of the question, as was Minerva. They'd probably confront Dumbledore, and that would only result in all parties involved being memory charmed. That was unacceptable. Severus had lost enough memories to the Dark Lord, and didn't fancy losing any more anytime soon. But he had to tell someone, didn't he? _I can't allow this to continue. What if it gets worse? What if they start molesting him?_ He worried. But who could he tell? Anyone that might be able to resolve the situation would surely tell Dumbledore, who would only put on his best 'concerned grandfather' face and assure them that he would 'take care of it' himself. This, obviously, would only result in the child being sent right back to Number 4 after everyone involved had their memories illegally modified. He could alert the police – anonymously of course – but that would likely result in the same. _I could kidnap the boy_. Severus shook his head, dismissing the thought almost as soon as it formed. That was a fool's errand if he _ever_ saw one. _The Headmaster knows that I've visited. If the boy goes missing, I'll be the first on his list of suspects_. Severus sighed. He was stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place, and he knew it. The front door opened, and he had to temporarily abandon his thoughts in favor of finding another hiding spot.

"Sure." Mark was saying. "I'll put some aside for you and leave it by the spot in the fence."

"Promise?" the Potter boy asked, hopefully.

"Yeah. Can't have you wasting away to nothing, now can I? Who would I play Super Mario Bros. with then?"

Potter smiled as the older boy ruffled his hair affectionately. _Perhaps… perhaps __**he**__ can be of service to me._ Severus thought as he watched the two part ways. _Surely he would want to help his friend?_ Decided, Snape turned on his heel and retreated to his home on Spinner's End. It was time to formulate a plan.

**Xxx**

Albus Dumbledore had a problem. Once again, the alarm had sounded for Privet Drive. _What is it now?_ He sighed. _That's the problem with relatives – they don't understand __**boundaries**__._

"Are you going to look into that, or are you just going to sit there?" Phineas asked derisively.

"Of course I'm going to look into it, Phineas."

"Well be quick about it then. Can't have our little Savior-Who-Lived-to-be-a-Pawn die now can we? Imagine what _that_ would do to your plans."

"Phineas…" The Headmaster sighed, vaguely annoyed.

"I'm just saying – if Voldemort ever comes back you'll need someone foolish enough to martyr for the cause and you and I both know that an abused, self-loathing, vengeful orphan is exactly the kind of person to foot the bill. After all, that's what Tom Riddle was – minus the self-loathing of course."

**Xxx**

When Albus Dumbledore arrived at Number 4, he was greeted by utter chaos. Petunia was screaming at anyone within hearing distance, and her son, Dudley, was being taken into custody by the local police. Her husband, Vernon, and her nephew, Harry, were nowhere to be found.

"He deserved it! He _deserved_ it! The boy is nothing but trouble! You can't do this! You _can't_!"

An officer was trying to calm Mrs. Dursley, but she was having none of it.

"You bring him back! You bring him _back_! My Dudley has never harmed anyone! It's that Potter that's the troublemaker! Ask anyone! Ask them! They'll tell you! That little wretch of a boy is the one to blame! Not my son! My Dudley is _innocent_! Innocent, you hear me! He's never hurt anyone in his _life_! That Potter _freak_ is always causing some kind of mayhem! He _is_! He's an ungrateful little wretch and he should have died with his _freak_ parents! This is unlawful! You let my Dudley go or else I'll _sue_! I'll press charged for unlawful imprisonment! I know the justice system! You can't lock him up on hearsay!"

Albus continued his trek across the yard using Petunia's rant and a few well-cast Notice-Me-Not charms to go undetected. Once he'd made his way to her side, he took her elbow and politely requested that she accompany him into the house. After retreating to the attic (which was the only place the police weren't searching) and settling onto a pair of conjured armchairs with an equally conjured cup of tea, the Headmaster proceeded to question Petunia about the events leading up to Dudley's arrest.

"The boy – _Potter-_" she spat venomously, "didn't finish his morning chores so I made him go without lunch as a lesson. Then the little ingrate skipped his afternoon chores to do God-knows-what, so I made him go without dinner too. The child is irresponsible and disobedient! I don't know why we kept him! He causes more trouble than is worth!"

"How do his actions account for his absence and Dudley's arrest?" Albus asked, steering Petunia back to the original topic.

"Well, Vernon sent him to take out the trash, and Dudley followed him to make sure he did it. The brat put the trash in the bin, then went around to the fence and pulled out a bag. Dudley said it was food. I don't know – I never saw it myself. Dudley grabbed the bag and yelled for Vernon. Potter got upset, and tried to take it back. The bag broke, and the little _freak_ attacked Dudley. Vernon went out to investigate, and next thing you know Dudley's being carted off by the bobbies."

Dumbledore leaned forward and looked intently into Petunia's eyes. "I see," he said after a long moment. "And there were no… weapons involved?"

"Widow Baker said she saw Dudley helping Vernon attack the freak. I heard her tell the bobbies that he was strangling Potter with the hose while Vernon whipped him. A load of rubbish if you ask me."

"I see."

"What are you going to do about it? Vernon and Dudley both have been arrested! And I don't care what the court says – I'm not taking that freakish piece of filth back into my house! They wouldn't let me anyway – say that I'm lucky not to be brought up on charges for abuse myself. And all because he slept in a cupboard! Like other children have never done the same!"

"I understand you're distressed, Mrs. Dursley, but you have to take him back."

"I don't _have_ to do anything! I should have never taken him in the first place, wretch that _he_ is!"

Albus sighed, his patience with the woman wearing dangerously thin. "He has no other living relatives, Petunia. Where do you suppose he'll go?"

"To the orphanage, like all the other unwanted abominations!"

"If I get your son and husband acquitted, will you take him back in?"

Petunia sniffed disdainfully. "And just how do you plan to do that? Baker says she saw it happen, and even if she hadn't you couldn't make everyone who knows about it forget. Vernon and Dudley's arrests were broadcast live on the _telly_ for Christ's sake! _Thousands_ of people must know by now!"

"If I could, would you take him back in?"

"If I say no, will you refuse to help me?"

"Yes."

"Yes then. But I won't act happy about it, mind you."

"I understand." Dumbledore said, rising. "I shall try my best to get the charges dropped and your family returned to you. Where is the boy?"

Petunia shrugged. "Hospital, I think. That's where they said they were taking him."

Albus nodded. "I'll start straight away. Good evening."

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"I can't just walk around _Obliviating_ Muggles!" Dumbledore sighed, frustrated. _Honestly! Sometimes Phineas is __**no**__ help!_

"Why not?" The portrait drawled.

"Because it would look suspicious."

"There is that."

"You're not _helping_ Phineas!"

"Don't yell at me – you brought this on yourself. I'm just trying to help."

"I know that! I just… I'm not a _sly_ as you are, Phineas. Can't you see? I need you help."

Phineas preened mockingly in his portrait. "Really? Do tell."

"Phineas." The old Headmaster whined.

"Don't whine," came the harsh reply, "it's unbecoming."

"Are you going to help me or not?" he asked.

"Keep your knickers on. I don't see why you're so upset by all of this. It's not like you can't just go back in time and fix it."

"I could, but all of the Time-Turners are currently under the ownership of the Ministry."

"Yes I know."

Albus whirled to face the portrait. "If you _know_, then why would you even suggest it?"

"Because it could work." Phineas said slowly.

"It would require going into the Ministry. What if someone asks why I'm there?"

Phineas rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Are you _daft_ boy? Think for a moment! You're the great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. You have an _Order of Merlin_, for Morgana's sake! Do you really think anyone will _care_ why someone so esteemed as yourself would be strolling through the Ministry of Magic? Even if they did, it wouldn't matter because once you go back with the Time-Turner, _it will have never happened_!"

Albus stared sheepishly at the floor. "You're right, Phineas. I was letting my frustration get the better of me."

Phineas smoothed out his jacket and settled into his chair. "Of course I'm right." He said rather pompously. "I'm always right – it's why I was never popular with the students. Disgruntled, angsty teenagers can't stand being wrong."

Albus laughed heartily. "Indeed."

**Xxx**

A nurse walked into the cold room, checked on the eerily still patient, and left.

"How's he doing?" Her relief asked.

"The same. Just barely alive."

"Poor child. Living with those horrid people. How's the other one?"

"Still sitting there. He won't leave now – doctor Shields told him he could stay as long as he wanted once the surgery and tests had been completed. He's been sitting there ever since."

The voices of the two nurses faded as they moved off down the corridor. A brown-haired boy shivered in the cold room, and pulled the blanket closer about him. The nurse had given it to him when she saw him shivering on her last round. Shelby, he remembered. She was the smart one, and gave up on trying to pry him away from his friend's prone form once she realized how stubborn he could be.

"Mark?" came a voice from the door. He hadn't even heard it open. _I must be more tired than I thought_. He mused. _I wonder how long it's been?_ A hand, warm and light, touched his shoulder. "Come on Mark. Visiting hours ended a long time ago."

He shook his head. "He hasn't got any friends, except me." The grip on his shoulder tightened.

"I know, but it's late Mark, and I have to work tomorrow."

"But Mum," He protested, "I'm all he's _got_! I should be here for him when he wakes up. It's what friends do."

The woman sighed. "I'll bring you back tomorrow on my way to work, okay?"

"Promise?" he said, finally turning to face her.

"Of course. Everyone should have someone to wake up to when they're sick."

Mark turned and looked at Harry's too-still form. "Right." He whispered, to himself more than anyone. "Right."

**Xxx**

Severus Snape watched as the boy and his mother retreated from the room to make their way home. Potter _would_ have someone to watch over him while he slept, albeit, someone invisible. Severus cautiously looked around. Once he was satisfied that no one was looking, he hastily took out a vial and emptied its contents into the IV attached to the child's arm. _Hopefully_, he thought, _that'll help_. He sighed and settled into the chair by the bed, determined to stand vigil in Mark's absence.

_How are you going to fix this one, old man?_ He mused. _How indeed. _

If only he knew what Dumbledore was up to that very moment…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

He hadn't meant to trip the alarm; he just hadn't realized the he wasn't as sprightly as he used to be. _Must be Father Time catching up to me. Might as well make the best of it._

"I…" the older man stalled. _Perhaps if I tell them the truth, they'll help me._ "I find myself in need of a Time-Turner, Cornelius." He said at last, hoping that they would help without asking too many questions.

Fudge motioned for the Aurors to put away their wands. "Whatever for?"

"You remember Harry Potter? Well… earlier this afternoon he had a rather unfortunate accident and had to be taken to the hospital. He has yet to awaken, but when he does, he is likely to be traumatized at best. I was hoping that by going back and preventing the event occurring, I could spare him from that. The boy… he has done so much for our world. It is the least that I can do." Albus responded, hoping that his 'wise old grandfather' act and a (illegal) touch of enchantment would work on the feeble-minded Minister.

Cornelius nodded, his nightcap bobbing atop his balding head. "Of course. He did save us from You-Know-Who – lost his parents in the process. The least we could do is ensure his continued happiness. Just… make sure that you return it. We can't have a Ministry-regulated item floating about, now can we?"

"Of course, Cornelius." Dumbledore replied, all the while thanking whatever deity there was that Fudge was so susceptible to persuasion via Legilimency. "I daresay that you will have my vote, come election."

The pompous man smiled widely in response. "Well," he said, "carry on!"

As everyone dispersed, Dumbledore resolved to have a little chat with a certain portrait when he returned to Hogwarts. _That scheming little slab of parchment is in for it… but first, to set things right on Privet Drive…_

**Xxx**

He was floating. Where he was floating, he didn't know. He only knew that it was nice and dark and _safe_. As he pondered the feeling of 'safe', he drifted into a fog. Here too, it felt safe. And there was a voice… someone was singing.

"Hello?" he tried to call. No words left his lips in this strange place, and yet, the bodiless voice seemed to hear him.

"Harry…" the voice (a woman's from the sound of it) sang sweetly.

"Hello?" he asked again. "Is anyone here?"

Once again, the voice responded. "Harry…" it called, "Don't listen to him."

"Him who?" he questioned, confused. He and the bodiless woman were the only ones here, weren't they?

"The bearded man… he tells naught but lies… he will betray you, in the end…" The voice called.

"What man?" he asked hurriedly, afraid the voice wouldn't answer him. "What man are you talking about? Hello?"

The voice didn't answer.

_Well that was odd_. He thought. As he continued to drift aimlessly in the safe void, the urgency of the voice's warning dissolved. There were plenty of men with beards in the world, he rationed. How was he supposed to know which one she's talking about? He giggled. _Mark would think I was a nutter if he were here. Weird voices talking to me in my head…_With that last thought, the raven-haired child returned to his previous state of drifting along without a care in the world.

**Xxx**

He hadn't counted on this. He'd gone back in time as planned and stopped Vernon and Dudley from attacking Harry, but Fate refused to lay about while he meddled in it. Not five minutes after he'd left, he was called back again by Arabella Figg.

"What is it _this_ time, Arabella?" He asked, praying that it wasn't the Dursley's _again_.

"He ran away." She replied, dashing his hopes of a good night's rest to smithereens.

Albus sighed warily. _Is Fate __**never**__ on my side?_ "What do you mean 'he's run away'? There's no place for him to go."

"That may be, but he's left all the same. Petunia said that she sent him to take out the trash, and when he didn't return after a few minutes, she looked out the back and found him gone."

The Headmaster wanted to scream. _After everything I've gone through to make sure that he's safe and has a roof over his head, the ungrateful little cretin throws it all out the window!_ Sometimes, he really did hate children. "How long ago was it that she sent him to take out the trash?"

"Hmm… I'd say about thirty minutes ago now. Petunia called the police – they're looking for him now."

He closed his eyes in a silent plea to whatever deity would listen. "Well," he said at last, "he's a small child with distinct features, no Muggle money nor any access to his Magical inheritance, and little to no social life to speak of. He can't have gotten far, and even if he has, he's got no way to fend for himself and nowhere to go. I'll have Alastor track him down – the old codger is good at things like that. Don't worry, Arabella, we'll find him."

"Alright, Albus. I'll keep a lookout for him too. You never know, he might come back."

Albus bid her a goodnight, and after a quick call to Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody, had everything all sorted out.

"Thank you Alastor. I know that this is sudden and you are in your retirement, but I would not ask were it not urgent."

"No problem at all Albus." came the gruff reply. "I'll get right on it, and the boy'll be back where he belongs in no time."

"Thank you again for your help, old friend. I'd be at a lost without you."

**Xxx**

Harry ducked as bright blue light washed through the window. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, looking over at the teen next to him.

"Of course it'll work. They'll never even think to look here – as far as the Dursleys know, you don't have any friends."

"But what if they find me? Won't you get in trouble?"

Mark ruffled his hair affectionately. "Not really – they never came over here to ask if we'd seen you, so _technically_ I can't get in trouble."

"But you lied to them, didn't you?"

Mark shook his head. "You can't lie if you've never been asked, now can you? And it's not my fault they didn't ask. They're police officers – they're supposed to think of things like that."

"But…" Harry whispered, hiding as another flash of colored light bled through the curtains of the upstairs bedroom, "if they find me, they'll make me go back. And Aunt Petunia will be angry at me for leaving. They'll probably lock me in the cupboard without the light. I don't want to be locked in the dark!"

Mark put an arm around Harry's trembling shoulders. "Harry I swear: I will never let them lock you away again."

Tears filled the smaller boys eyes, and he trembled even more. "But…"

"No 'buts'. You will never be forced into that cupboard again. If they even try, I'll put _them_ in the cupboard." Mark said with enough conviction to comfort the wild-haired child.

"But what if they find me?" Harry asked again.

"Harry, they'd have to be able to see through walls to find you. Besides, the best place to hide is in plain sight."

"Really?" he asked hopefully.

"Really."

Little did the boys know, Alastor Moody could do just that.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** This chapter has SPOILERS for the last two Harry Potter books! You have been warned!

**Chapter 8**

When Alastor Moody agreed to help find the Potter boy, this was _not_ what he had in mind. His magical eye had rolled around in his head until it finally locked on to a scrawny, underfed, _abused_ six-going-on-four year old in the house next door that was terrified of his own relatives.

"Don't send me back! _Please_ don't send me back!" the child wailed fearfully. "They'll lock me in the cupboard again! They'll take away the light!" He fought futilely to free himself of Moody's grip, and cried out to his friend in desperation. "Mark!"

_So __**that's**__ his name_. Alastor thought, his magical eye turning to the teenager bound and unconscious on the kitchen floor. _The brat put up one heck of a fight, that's for sure._

**Thirty minutes earlier…**

Once he had located the boy, Alastor had expected to walk in, stun the Muggle, and walk out. That plan had been completely voided when the brown-haired fifteen-year-old had attacked him with a bat for entering uninvited and yelled at Potter to hide. The boy-savior had then run upstairs and crawled in the cabinet under the bathroom sink (not like Moody couldn't _see_ him), while the older boy had snatched a carving knife off the kitchen table and brandished it quite expertly. It didn't do much against his well-cast barrage of spells (which the teen was astonishingly good at dodging), but it _was_ enough to distract him from the ex-Death Eater sneaking up behind him. Moody had jumped out of the way just in time, and the stunning and binding spells that Severus had directed at him had hit the fiery teen instead. What had followed was a brief, yet fierce battle between the ex-Auror and Potions Professor, with Severus being forced to flee lest he be discovered by the Muggle police. Moody of course had a cover-up for just such a situation: he was a member of the ever-elusive MI6, and Harry Potter was an orphaned prodigy who had been sent to England for his own protection after his parents murder. The bobbies bought it (mainly because Moody was imposing, and had 'proof' to back up his story), and had left the 'special agent' to interrogate the teenager in private.

This of course, brings us back to the present situation.

"What _exactly_ did you think you were doing kidnapping this child?" Moody barked after _Enervating_ the brunette.

Mark glared at him and struggled into a sitting position. "You're not from MI6."

"Very astute. Now answer my question."

"How do I know you're not here to kidnap him?"

_Constant vigilance… I kind of like this kid._ "I'm here by request of an interested third party to see him returned to his relatives. Now, why did you kidnap-"

"I didn't kidnap him! He came of his own volition. We were having dinner. His _relatives,_" the boy spat, "had refused to feed him again. We were going to wait until my mum got home, and then see if she could talk some sense into Mrs. Dursley."

"What do you mean 'talk some sense' into her?" Moody said, training his wand on the teen.

"We were hoping that if an adult approached the Dursleys about the abuse, then they'd be forced to treat him better."

"A few words here and there-"

"They beat him, starve him, and make him sleep in a cupboard. Most people wouldn't treat a _dog_ as badly as the Dursleys treat him."

Moody turned to Harry. "Is this true?" the small child only whimpered and hung his head. "Boy."

"His name is Harry." Mark said. "Go on Harry; tell him what you told me earlier."

Harry was quiet for a while. "They… Dudley has two rooms, but I sleep in a cupboard. They lock me in when they don't like me. When they're really mad, they take the light away." The frightened child looked up at Alastor, eyes brimming with tears. "I don't want to be locked in the dark!"

Moody stared at the two boys, his magical eye swinging between the two.

"How long have you known about magic, boy?" he asked, his eye settling on Mark.

"My name is Mark." The teen spat venomously. "And I'm not telling you anything else until you untie me."

The ropes binding Mark disappeared with a flick of Moody's wrist, and the teen took his time rubbing his wrists and settling into a chair.

"Let him go." Mark demanded. "He's scared enough without you cutting off the circulation to his fingers."

Once Harry had been situated into a chair beside Mark and as far away from Moody as the table would let him, Mark finally seemed satisfied.

"Well?" Alastor growled impatiently.

"Well what?"

"How long have you known about magic?"

"Since that old man erased my mum's memory." He replied.

"What old man?" Moody pressed. "What did he look like?"

Mark shrugged. "He had a really long beard and long white hair. And glasses. He came to the door, and when mum answered it, he said something in what sounded like Latin. Then he left, mum went to bed, and when she woke up the next morning, she didn't remember anything."

"She didn't remember anything at all, or just what she'd done the day before?"

"She said the last thing she remembered was having a cup of tea before bed. She didn't remember Harry's uncle beating him half to death, even though she was the one who saw it, and she didn't remember going to the hospital to visit him either. Or talking to Petunia or the bobbies."

"I see." _Dumbledore_, Moody thought, _that's the only explanation. But why would he want to cover something like this up? I'm missing something here, and it's a big something at that._ "Alright," he said at last, "I'll look into it. In the mean time, I'll call off the police. Harry can stay here until your mum gets a chance to confront Petunia. But I have to warn you: you're dealing with something bigger here, I can feel it, and it'll be and uphill battle to overcome it."

Mark rolled his eyes. "No shit."

"Language, Mark; can't have Potter picking up those kinds of phrases – at least, not at his current age."

**Xxx**

Albus Dumbledore had a problem. He'd done all the planning and manipulating he could for the Potter boy, but it seems that he didn't plan on one thing: Vernon Dursley. The man was a constant thorn in Dumbledore's side, if only because he was the main cause of his current predicament. You see, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, was missing. He'd run away nearly sixteen hours ago, and no one, not even the esteemed Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody had been able to sniff him out. Normally, this wouldn't be such a gigantic dilemma, but today was Harry's seventh birthday, and after rumors of his abuse had been leaked about the upper echelon of Wizarding society, (_Damn that Skeeter woman!_) the Minister was eager to see him whole and hale. The Minister had planned a surprise birthday party for the boy himself, and now everything was ready and accounted for.

Everything, that is, except the guest of honor.

"What do you mean you don't know where he is?" Fudge cried angrily. "You _just_ saw him, didn't you?"

"I did, but it seems that he's… run away."

Fudge turned a troubling shade of puce. "So the rumors are true?" he whispered, his voice cold and sharp. "The boy _was_ being abused."

"Cornelius," Albus soothed, "we don't know that."

"_No_," the Minister growled back, "_we_ don't know anything, _you_ do. _You_ have been privy to everything about his life since his parents died. _You_ were allowed to place him in a situation that _the rest of us_ have discovered to have had a high potential for neglect and abuse. _The Ministry_ doesn't know _anything_ about Harry Potter's location or well-being, and we _should_."

Albus paled. This looked like it was getting bad. "Cornelius…" he tried, unsuccessfully.

"Don't _Cornelius_ me!" the Minister snapped impatiently. "You knew this entire time that the boy was being abused! You _knew_! And instead of turning the Dursleys over to the authorities – even the _Muggle_ authorities – you decided to 'handle' it yourself by covering it up! You call yourself a leader for the Light? You've done nothing but damn us all from the start! _You_ are the reason that Grindewauld became the menace that he was! You gave him one idea after another! You stopped him in the end, yes, but the damage was done. And when history threatened to repeat itself, you _helped it along_! How can you not see what you've done? You left Tom Riddle to rot in an unloving, unsupportive environment, and look what he became! A _monster_! And you've gone and done the same thing with Potter! Are you _daft_ man? You could have very well doomed us all!"

"If you just listen-"

"No! _No_, Albus, I'm done listening. _We're_ done listening. My predecessors may have let you have free reign over decisions that are better left to the Ministry's jurisdiction in the past, but no more! Effective _immediately_ you are hereby temporarily demoted from your post as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, pending investigation, and you'd better _pray_ we find him, or you'll have more than you political positions to lose!"

The fire turned from green to it's usual orange, and Albus slumped into his chair miserably. _How can things possibly get any worse than this?_ He wondered warily. A knock on his door roused him from his morose thoughts, and he waved the door open to admit his visitor.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!" a voice screeched in barely repressed rage. "What _have_ you done?"

The elderly Headmaster sighed, feeling every bit his one hundred and six years. _Minerva,_ he thought to himself grimacing, _I had to ask…_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Three chapters in one weekend! It _must_ be because of all the reviews! I was going to wait to post this chapter, but as you can see, I changed my mind. Keep up the reviews!

**Chapter 9**

"Petunia, how could you?" Loire railed, surprised and angered that her neighbor had condoned such an act. "He's a _child_! Your own blood!"

"Lily's blood, maybe, but not _mine_." Petunia snapped back, offended. "I disowned that wretched freak when she joined that _cult_ and got our parents blown up!"

Loire stared at her in confused disbelief. "Cult? You never said she was a member of a _cult_."

Petunia angrily wiped down the kitchen counter. "I try not to think about her, let alone talk about her. Nothing but a disgrace, and a dangerous one at that. Joining underground _organizations_ and carrying on. It's a wonder that she lived long enough to have a child at all."

"Petunia!" Loire gasped, scandalized. "You shouldn't speak ill of the dead. And your own sister!"

"That _wretch_ is no sister of mine!"

Loire pursed her lips in disapproval, ignoring the slight on Lily in favor of steering the conversation back to its original topic. "Still, whatever Lily did in her life is not cause enough for you to punish her son for it. Harry can't help it if his parents were thrill-seekers."

Petunia huffed in reluctant agreement. "I suppose not."

"You _suppose_? Petunia-"

The disgruntled woman in question rounded on her well-meaning neighbor in anger. "I've _tried_ talking to Vernon! I _have_! I told him that he had to be… that he couldn't just go around, punishing the boy however he liked! I _told_ him that! But he doesn't _listen_! What would you have me do, Loire? Not all of us are _working-class_ women like yourself!"

"You could send him to anger management classes, for starters" came the unsympathetic reply.

Petunia sighed. "I tried that. Don't you think I've tried that?"

"I don't know what you've tried, Petunia. But I'll tell you what you _can_ try. You can try treating Harry like a real person, instead of some disgusting sub-human species. You can let him sleep in a _bedroom_ instead of in a cupboard. You can give him clothes that fit, and three meals a day. I've heard of criminals receiving better treatment than he does!"

"_Excuse me_? We feed him-"

"When it _suits_ you!"

"We _house_ him!"

"Yes, in a _cupboard_ under the bloody _stairs_! Even _inmates_ don't sleep in _cupboards_, Petunia!"

"What would you have me do? Where would you have him sleep?" Petunia asked. "On the sofa?"

"In the spare bedroom that you've got upstairs. The one that Dudley's old toys are in." Loire responded as if talking to a five-year-old.

"And where do I put the things that are in there now? Hmm?"

"In the garage."

"And the things in the garage?"

"Then throw them out! Dudley doesn't need all of these things anyway! He doesn't even know half of them are even _in_ there! I don't care what you do with them, as long as Harry a real bed to sleep on!"

"I will not _deprive_ my Dudley of his things so that my wretched sister's _freak_ of a legacy can have his own room! If you want him pampered so badly, then _you_ can have him! Go on! Take him! See if I care!"

Loire stared at her neighbor as if seeing her for the first time. "Maybe I will." She said as she turned on her heel and storming out of Number Four, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing in her wake.

Miles away a siren was wailing, signaling the fall of the blood-wards on Number Four Privet Drive.

**Xxx**

At midday, the mundane summer routine of the quaint neighborhood of Little Whinging was disrupted by a procession of several sleek, black cars bearing flags and important-looking emblems. Their curiosity peaked, the residents of Privet Drive watched unabashedly as the parade made its way down the street and stopped outside of Number Four. Each neighbor turned excitedly toward the other to share their speculation of the cause of this admittedly peculiar occurrence.

The speculation increased as several individuals dressed in black suits and dark sunglasses emerged from the cars and situated themselves around the perimeter of the Dursley residence. _Bodyguards?_ The residents murmured to one another, _At Number Four? Whoever it is must be important…_ They were not disappointed. Once the area was declared secure, the door of the remaining car opened, and although they were not aware of it, the inhabitants of Privet Drive were graced with a very distinguished presence indeed.

Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister of Magic, had arrived.

Flanked by two of his finest, the Minister, dressed in a navy blue suit and tie, with a matching bowler hat and traveling cloak, strode importantly up the front walk of Number Four, and rapped smartly on the door. After only a few moments of waiting, the door opened to reveal an overly large man with thicker hair on his upper lip than on his head.

"Yes?" the man said gruffly.

"Hello," the Minister said politely, "You must be Mr. Dursley. My name is Cornelius Fudge, I'm with the Ministry. May we come in?"

Vernon's eyes widened. "The Ministry, you say?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Well certainly. Petunia," he called, throwing the door wide and beckoning them inside, "we have company. Would you put on a kettle?"

"Of course, dear." She called back, and the sounds of running water could be heard in the kitchen.

"You can have a seat right in here." He said, turning back to his guests and offering them a seat in the living room. Once they were all settled, Vernon turned to the Minister. "What can I do for you, Mr. Fudge?"

"Actually, it's Minister Fudge, and I'd rather wait until your wife was present before starting."

As if summoned, Petunia appeared in the doorway carrying a tray of biscuits and fine china.

"Hello," she said, "I'm Petunia Dursley. Would you like milk or honey in your tea?"

"No, thank you."

After everyone had been offered refreshments, Petunia sat and turned her attention to the important-seeming man in front of her.

"Well," the Minister said, "might as well get down to business, shall we? My name, as I've told your husband, is Cornelius Fudge, and I am the Minister for Magic in this nation. I am here today to discuss with you the current living arrangements and location of one Harrison James Potter. I trust you are familiar with the child we speak of?"

The Dursleys nodded dumbly.

"Good. It has been brought to our attention that the boy has been treated rather dubiously during the time he has spent living with you, and that, as of yesterday, his whereabouts are unknown."

"I know where he is now," Petunia interrupted, "he's next door, visiting a friend. He stayed over last night – I'd forgotten that he'd been invited and overreacted when he didn't come home. It's all just a slight misunderstanding."

The Minister smiled at her benevolently. "I'm sure it was. Nonetheless, we at the Ministry find ourselves concerned with what has been reported by several reputable parties to be the rather dour living conditions for Mr. Potter at this residence. He is a very important individual in our society, and even if he weren't, accusations of the neglect and abuse of a minor individual are not to be taken lightly."

"Abuse!" Vernon sputtered, finally finding his voice.

"That is what one normally calls it when a child is starved, beaten, and shunted aside into a cupboard instead of a bedroom proper. Perhaps you Muggles do things differently, but judging from the girth of the child in the pictures who I assume is your son, I would say that Mr. Potter did not go hungry for a lack of groceries. Now, Mrs. Dursley, I'm going to need you to retrieve Mr. Potter from his friend's house so that he may be examined by a Healer to see the extent of the damage that living is such a volatile environment has caused him. Hopefully, none of it is lasting. If it is found that the boy wishes to return to your care, several measures will have to be taken to ensure that no additional harm befalls him whilst he is here. If he does _not_ want to return to your care, then your husband will be taken into custody for the abuse of a minor child, you both will be fined for the gross neglect of a minor child, and your son will be sent to live with another relative while you undergo psychological treatment, to be released only when the facility declares you capable of raising a child without actively endangering them. Now, if you would be so kind as to retrieve Mr. Potter?" The Minister said in dismissal.

"If the boy goes to live elsewhere, what will happen to Vernon?"

"That depends on the extent of the damage. If it is minimal, which I doubt it is, then he will only be fined the cost of Harry's rehabilitation and ordered to complete some kind of anger management course. If the damage is as extensive as our source describes, then he will likely be fined and imprisoned."

"So I could go to prison either way?" Vernon exclaimed.

"Yes. Or, depending on the severity of the abuse and Mr. Potter's preference, you both could be fined and placed under house arrest, until such a time that a Ministry-appointed social worker declares you suitable to raise a child and interact with the rest of society. You will be fined a undergo counseling at your own expense no matter the outcome. I cannot in good conscience allow your son to remain in your care when you are both so obviously unsuitable for child-rearing."

Petunia cried silently while Vernon turned an alarming shade of red. "The boy is next door." he ground out with considerable effort. "You can retrieve him yourself."

"Very well." The Minister said, standing. "Someone from the Ministry will be in contact with you regarding your case. Good day."

Vernon and Petunia watched as the man and his bodyguards left, the lock clicking softly behind them.

"Vernon," Petunia whispered, unsure if they were really gone, "what are we going to do?"

"Go find Dudley and tell him to pack his things. I'm going out for a bit. I want the house packed up when I get back."

"What about all of Dudley's toys? I can't possibly pack them all in such a short amount of time."

"Then leave them. Whatever isn't packed when I get back is to be left behind, you hear me? We don't know when those freaks'll be back, so we don't have any time to waste."

Petunia bit her lip and nodded. "I understand."

"Good." He replied, kissing her cheek. "I've got some thing to take care of. I'll be back later tonight."

"Alright. Be careful."

Vernon only nodded, and Petunia watched the door shut behind him. _That freak of sister and her freak spawn have ruined __**everything.**_ She thought.

"Dudley!" she called as she went into the kitchen and began taking dishes down from the cabinets.

"Yes mum?"

"I need you to pack up all of your things, okay?"

"Why?" he asked, thundering down the stairs and into the kitchen. "We're moving?"

Petunia nodded.

"Where?" he demanded.

Petunia looked at him for a long moment and sighed. "I don't know." She said truthfully. "I honestly don't know."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** It's been a while, I know, and yes this chapter isn't really that action-packed, but I worked really hard on it and I hope you like it.

**Chapter 10**

Loire wiped a bit of sweat from her eyes and surveyed her work. _I really have to clean out the spare rooms more often._ She thought, fluffing the pillows on the newly made bed. After Petunia had yelled at her to take him, Loire had felt a strange clam settle over her, and decided to do just that. Several phone calls and a mountain of paperwork later found her the adoptive parent of one Harrison James Potter. Mark had been thrilled at the idea, and had shown his new brother the entire house, including the attic. Loire had been a bit confused as to why the bubbling six-year-old had been so excited about exploring the attic, until he let it slip that the Dursleys had banned him from their attic when they realized that he liked to hide up there from his cousin and uncle who were both too wide to fit up the narrow staircase. After seeing how enraptured Harry had been with the large windows in the airy space, Loire had shooed the two outside and set to cleaning the all the dust and cobwebs away so that he could have the attic all to himself. _All we need now is a coat of paint._ She mused. _And maybe a rug…_

"Mom!" Mark called, breaking the wistful silence, "There's someone here for you! They say they're from the Ministry!"

Loire shook her head and fondly patted the orange comforter one last time before descending the stairs.

**Xxx**

Mark had been sitting in the living room playing Super Mario Bros. with Harry when the doorbell rang. "Here," he said handing the controller to his new brother, "why don't you finish this level while I get the door?"

"Awesome!" came the excited reply, and the cheery music filled the room once again.

Mark ruffled Harry's hair fondly, shaking his head at Harry's muttered "Stupid turtles…" as he opened the front door.

"Hi…" he greeted, eyeing the two intimidating bodyguards and the distinguished-looking man between them, "I guess you're here for my mum? Come on in; I think she's in the attic."

"Thank you," the distinguished-looking man said. "I'm from the Ministry, and I'm here to collect Mr. Harry Potter."

Mark nodded. "Make yourselves comfortable in the kitchen. Let me fetch her for you. Mom!" he called as he reached the second floor landing, "Mom! There's someone here for you! They say they're from the Ministry!" He returned to the kitchen not a moment later with a very curious Harry Potter in tow. "She'll be right down." He said, walking over to the refrigerator and pouring a glass of juice for Harry, who had attached himself to his brother's pant leg. "Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?"

"No thank you." The distinguished-looking-man said, "We don't plan to stay long."

**Xxx**

Whatever Loire had expected the Ministry visitors to look like, _important_ was not it. She surveyed their attire warily, and could think of only one thing to say:

"You're not a social worker."

The distinguished-looking-man stood and extended his hand, smile dancing around his lips. "No, madam, I am not. My name is Cornelius Fudge, and I am the Minister of Magic in this country."

Loire shook his hand, thoughts whirling. _Minister of…_"Boys," she said, "why don't you two go play in the living room while I talk to Mr. Fudge?"

"Sure." Came the reply, and she watched as Mark led a wide-eyed Harry across the hall.

"I take it that I might want to sit down for this?" Loire asked, sliding into a vacant chair.

"Indeed. Mrs. Baker, what I have to tell you is a matter of national security…"

**Xxx**

"I don't want to move!" Dudley hollered as he watched his mother pack away all of his things. "I don't want to! I don't want to! _I don't __**want**__ to_!"

Petunia threw down the shirt she was folding and turned to face her son. "I don't want to either," she replied, "but your father has made up his mind. Now, if you want to keep all of your nice things then I suggest you help me pack. Your father said that whatever isn't in a box when he gets back will be thrown out."

"But I don't _want_ to pack, and I _don't_ want to move!"

Petunia angrily turned back to the veritable mountain of clothing and resumed the task of folding them and packing them orderly into boxes. "Yes, well… sometimes you have to make sacrifices in the _present_ so you can be happy and have what you want in the _future_."

"I don't _care_ about the _future_! I care about _right now_! And _right now __**I don't want to move**_!"

"Enough!" she yelled, cutting Dudley off mid-rant. "Enough! I don't want to move and you don't want to move and I doubt your father wants to move either, but _**we are**_! So shut the _bloody hell_ up and _pack up your belongings_ like I told you or they'll go in the trash with everything else we're leaving behind!"

"But-"

"_**Now**_, Dudley! And don't make me tell you again!"

After staring at his mother in shock for several moments, the porky boy picked up the nearest toy, and, with a mournful whimper, dropped it in the nearest box.

**Xxx**

"So you see," the Minister said, "we really only want to ensure that Mr. Potter will endure no lasting damage from his time with his relatives, after which we will return him to you, safe and sound."

"What about this Voldemort fellow?" Loire asked worriedly. "You said you never found a body – he could still be out there somewhere."

"We will provide you with a several Aurors to ensure the safety of Mr. Potter, your son Mark, and yourself at all times, as well as means to contact the Auror department and St. Mungo's in case of emergency. The entire property as well as the surrounding area will be expertly warded to track the coming and going of all magical beings, be they human or otherwise, as well as alert a special response team to all occurrences of magic within the warded area. You will be allowed to interview all candidates for this position and are more than welcome to select the ones that you feel to be the most trustworthy and discrete, and you are more that welcome to attend any and all medical examinations that Mr. Potter will have to endure. Full coverage medical and property insurance will be provided to you and your family at no cost to yourself, and should anything happen that requires the attention of a medical professional, our best Healers will be made available to you."

Loire nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds good, but I don't know anything about magic, or public relations, or any of that, and you said that Harry is famous in your world. I don't want him stalked by paparazzi every time he leaves the house."

Fudge patted her hand comfortingly. "As the Minister of Magic I have a certain amount of pull with the media, and I will do my very best to ensure that young Mr. Potter's privacy is respected. If any infringements _do_ occur, I will be sure to take whatever action you deem necessary. As far learning the basics and traditions of magical society goes, we can arrange, with your approval of course, to have Mr. Potter meet with a tutor twice a week. Most magical children are home-schooled by their parents or a certified tutor from the time they demonstrate magical aptitude until they are eligible to attend a formal institution at eleven. However there are a few families, most of whom have ties to either the Ministry or some other distinguished organization, that elect to send their children to a primary academy so that they may socialize with other children from similar backgrounds. Most children who are Muggle-born or raised continue to attend their non-magical institutions until age eleven when they are invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"I see," Loire said, nodding. "Is there a way that Harry can continue attending the school he's at now and still attend a magical primary school? I want him to have friends in both worlds, and I think he'd get a better feel for the magical community if he were exposed to it in a classroom setting with children his own age."

"Mr. Potter's current institution does not offer magical courses at this time. However, I do believe that there are several institutions nearby that offer the dual-world learning experience that you are looking for. I will certainly have someone look into them for you." Fudge replied sincerely.

"Thank you. One more question: suppose that Harry doesn't want to pursue a career in the magical community, what then? He'll have spent seven years at a magical institution and won't have any way to obtain employment in a non-magical field."

"Mrs. Baker, I understand that you are concerned about Mr. Potter's future – any parent in your situation would be – but I assure you that your worries are unfounded. Mr. Potter will be provided a private tutor while attending a secondary magical institution, should he wish it, and will be excused from his magical classes so that he may sit the relevant non-magical exams. Do you have any other concerns?" he asked politely.

"Just one," she replied, "is there any way that Mark and myself can study the subjects that Harry will be taught? Even if I can't do magic, I'd still like to be informed enough to help him with his homework."

The esteemed Minister smiled jovially. "Of course; all of Mr. Potter's texts will be made available to you, and I am quite sure that you both would benefit from rudimentary Potions tutoring. While the more advanced potions do require various charms and spells to be completed properly, even a Muggle like yourself should be able to manage the more basic brews with proper instruction."

"Excellent," Loire said smiling, "where do I sign up?"


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** This chapter took a little turn that I hadn't planned, but still seems to work out okay. Tell me what you think!

**Eleven**

"I don't want you to go!" Harry wailed as he watched his newly acquired brother pack his school books and several changes of clothing into his already full trunk. "We just became family!"

Mark sighed, shoving yet _another_ uniform into his suitcase. "I know Harry, but Eton's not that far away, and I'm allowed two short leaves and one long one this half, so it's not like you'll never see me again."

"That's all?" Harry exclaimed, attaching himself to Mark's leg, "But you'll be gone until Christmas!"

"Harry," Mark said, patting his head in consolation, "I'll be back for long leave the second week of October, and you'll see me for an entire week then."

Harry sniffled. "I will?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes. Now hurry and get dressed so I can see you off to St. Bartleby's before I go."

"Okay." Harry agreed, wiping his face and running out of the room.

Amused, Mark simply shook his head and continued to pack.

**Xxx**

Albus Dumbledore was in a predicament. Earlier this morning he had faced the full Wizengamot in a hearing about his activities concerning one Harry Potter. Despite the fact that he had defeated Grindewauld, discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and championed for Merpeople to attain 'being' status (among other things), the court had still found him guilty somehow. While they had not agreed with the Minister's assessment of him being the central cause of all major magical conflicts within the last hundred years, they _had_ agreed to place him on probation (much to the Minister's dismay) for the next calendar year for "the gross neglect and willful endangerment of a minor child". Although he had scoffed at the time, Albus had realized even then if he hadn't mastered the art of Enchantment he probably would have gotten much worse. It seemed that no one was willing to fall for the 'kind grandfather' act if the Boy-Who-Lived was involved.

"And you were no help at all Phineas." He railed against the stoic former-Headmaster.

"Don't blame me," the painting replied indignantly, "you bought this on yourself. I told you back in the '30s that you shouldn't show so much bias against the lesser privileged. I also told you to take that Riddle boy under your wing and guide him, but you didn't listen to me then either."

"Phineas…" Albus started, horribly ashamed of himself.

"I guess I'm just an old, babbling sheet of parchment now… no real use in listening to me now that I'm dead."

"Phineas, I never said that."

The former Headmaster only straightened his robes and settled into his chair regally.

"Phineas…"

"Don't _whine_ Albus. It's unbecoming."

The bearded wizard simply smiled and munched contentedly on a lemon drop.

**Xxx**

"Hi, I'm Harry."

The tall, dark boy looked at his outstretched hand as if it were something foreign that he'd never seen before. "I care because?"

Harry dropped his arm to his side, embarrassed.

"Don't mind Blaise any," came a voice from behind him, "he's a prat – I think he may have been born that way."

"Oh." Harry said, discreetly surveying the boy the voice belonged to. He was taller than Harry by nearly a head, and he had sleek black hair and was so pale that Harry briefly wondered if _he_ had been made to sleep in a cupboard too.

"I'm Artemis," the boy said, his friendly smile not quite penetrating his calculating navy eyes. "Welcome to St. Bartleby's School for Young Gentlemen."

"Harry." He replied, shaking the offered hand.

"Nice to meet you, Harold."

"It's Harrison actually," Harry corrected, "but you can call me Harry. Everyone does."

"I'll keep that in mind." Came the formal reply. Somehow, even though they were only children, Artemis seemed to be so much more… Harry didn't know how to phrase it, but whatever it was, Artemis was _exactly_ that.

"How old are you?" the taller boy inquired politely.

"Seven." Harry answered.

Artemis nodded. "So am I."

"I suppose that means we're in the same form." Harry stated.

"You suppose correct. Here, let me show you around…"

Somehow, even thought he had doubted him, Harry had to admit that Mark had been right. Making friends wasn't hard after all.

**Xxx**

Cornelius Fudge was very, _very_ angry. Somehow, Albus Dumbledore had gotten nothing more than a slap on the wrists for his atrocious behavior concerning Harry Potter's well-being. He had been so very sure that people would finally see the scheming old man for what he really was; so _sure_ that he could not escape his actions now… Cornelius seethed.

"Minister? Minister Fudge?" his secretary asked, interrupting his mutinous thought.

"Yes, Dolores?"

"Lucius Malfoy is here to see you. Should I send him in?"

The Minister faltered. Lucius had been a very close personal friend for years, true, but he was also an accused Death Eater. _Should I associate with him now that I have the whereabouts of Harry Potter?_ He fretted. It had never been a problem before, but Cornelius knew better than most that if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ever returned, Lucius would be very eager to get back into his former master's good graces. _And what better way than by telling him the whereabouts of his downfall?_ Cornelius thought grimly. _Although... Lucius is a Malfoy first and a Slytherin second. Perhaps if I approach the matter as one of self-preservation, I could sway him to a different viewpoint…_

"Minister?" the annoying woman asked again.

"Yes, yes," he replied shifting a pile of parchment from one side of the desk to the other, "send him in."

**Xxx**

Lucius Malfoy was a proud man. Slytherin to his very core, he constantly sought to better his standings, to have 'one-up' on everyone he met, and he only admired those who did the same. After all, ambition and self-reliance are the cornerstones of the Slytherin persona.

"Minister." He greeted formally, waiting until the annoying secretary had bowed herself out of the room to show any outward signs of familiarity.

"Lucius, how very good to see you." Came the strained reply.

"It this a bad time? If it is…" Lucius trailed off as the Minister shook his head in denial.

"What can I do for you, Lucius?" the Minister asked, offering him a cup of tea.

"Not much… I was just wondering if you ever found the Potter boy? His aunt must be worried sick." The blonde Slytherin prodded.

"Yes, we found him, but young Mr. Potter has been removed from his aunt's custody for his own safety. It seems that Dumbledore was… mistaken in placing him there."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Of course he was. The decision was not his to make; the Ministry is in charge of orphaned magicals. Have you situated him with another family yet?"

"I have." Came the curt reply. "But for security purposes, I cannot tell you where or with whom."

Lucius nodded. He'd expected as much, and he said so. "But he is with a caring family? One who will be able to provide him with everything a young wizard needs?"

"The Ministry believes that Mr. Potter has been placed in an ideal environment for his physical, psychological, and magical development. Why the interest? Surely you were not thinking of adopting him yourself?"

"No… I just heard rumors about abuse. You know how I feel about that sort of thing, Cornelius." Lucius said, pouring himself another cup of tea.

"Is that all you came for – to check up on the progress of the Potter situation?"

"No. I came to see how _you_ are doing, Cornelius." He said, leaning forward slightly to convey his very real concern. "I saw in the _Prophet_ this morning that that old fool got off. I know how important this hearing was to you, old friend. I wanted you to know that _I_ believe you."

"Do you really?" the Minister asked, heartened.

"Yes. Albus Dumbledore has far too much power – more so than Tom Riddle ever had. People are so blinded by the perceived good that he has done for our world that they cannot to see where he has failed."

"You still believe that he had the right idea?"

"The Dark Lord?" Lucius was silent in thought. "In the beginning, he did. He used to believe in what I believe in – that Muggles and Muggle-borns have no real place in Wizarding society until they have learned our ways. Change is all well and good, but progress for the sake of progress… for the sake of being _trendy_, is unacceptable. Yes, we need to learn to blend in better with their world – which is facilitated via Muggle Studies, provided, of course, the material is current – but they need to learn to fit into ours as well. They pollute it with their violence and wastefulness. Look how many species have been endangered because they feel the need to level an entire forest to build housing, or drain a lake so that they can dump their garbage? And I'm all for helping them to find better solutions to their problems, but they don't seem the least bit willing to offer just compensation. The Dark Lord used to believe that magical children in the care of Muggles needed to be monitored to avoid the type of hostility that Harry Potter and countless others have endured. We can't just expect Muggles and their magical offspring to _know_ how things work, but we can't let them walk around, destroying our culture in their ignorance either. It's just inconsolable. They _need_ to be rehabilitated."

"The Dark Lord is mad, Lucius." The Minister reminded.

"Oh I _know_ that. I know it better than most. What else would you call a man that sells his soul for Dark powers and brazenly orders the execution of all children born in the second half of July? He would have ordered me to execute _my own _son had he been born a scant forty days later!" Lucius agreed.

"But you agree with his views."

"I said I _agreed_ with his views – past tense. He lost all direction when that damnable prophecy was made. I'd never seen anyone succumb to madness that quickly before. He was hell-bent on getting revenge for grievances that had yet to occur, and that was what caused his demise. Prophecies only have as much power as you give them. If he would have stuck to the plan instead of rushing off to the Potters on Pettigrew's word-"

"Pettigrew? But I thought it was Black who was the traitor!" the Minister exclaimed.

Lucius shook his head, amused. "Now who told you _that_ rubbish?"

"Dumbledore did. He said-"

"Yes, well," Lucius drawled, "we all know how trustworthy _he_ is."

The Minister paused, and Lucius could see him working things over in his head. "You mean to say, that an innocent man has been sitting in Azkaban for the past _six years_?" he whispered as if afraid of what the answer would be. "Why did you never say anything?"

Lucius shrugged, his blonde hair falling over his shoulders. "I hadn't remembered until just recently, and even if I had, who would have believed me? I was on trial for being a Death Eater myself." He watched as the Minister slumped back in his chair. "Are you alright, Cornelius? You look tired all of a sudden."

"Fine, I'll be fine." The Minister replied looking even more strained than before. "An innocent man in Azkaban… I'll have to fire Crouch for this one, else the press will have my head. Do me a favor?"

"Certainly."

"On your way out, tell Dolores to summon Amelia Bones. Tell her it's an emergency."

Lucius stood and nodded. "Of course. Good day, Cornelius." He said as he made his way to the door.

The haggard Minister only groaned in reply.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** I apologize for the late update, I make no excuses. Moving on… This chapter has spoilers for the last two books in it. They aren't that blatant, but they're there. Just thought I'd warn you. Don't forget to review.

**Twelve**

Cunning: It was the one thing Lucius Malfoy was above all else. _But of course_, he thought as he showed himself out of the Minister's office, _I __**am**__ a Slytherin._ After the little slip of revealing the true traitor in the Potter Scandal, Cornelius would be practically _begging_ to know what else he had 'forgotten'. Lucius smirked, whistling a dainty tune as he Flooed to his estate on the French side of the Channel. What a glorious day it was!

"Lucius," his wife called, "is that you?"

"Yes dear." He answered, depositing his cloak in the hands of a house-elf.

"You won't _believe_ what Draco go into today!"

_You won't believe what __**I **__got into today. _He thought as he half-listened to Narcissa's chatter._ Cornelius Fudge owes me a favor now and I plan to collect… __**soon**__. _

**Xxx**

Loire sighed. With the kids off to school, she could finally walk through the sitting room without stepping on some toy or another. It was a good thing, surely, but a sad one as well. A much as she had been looking forward to having a little time to herself after work, Number 6 Privet Drive felt _sad_ without her boys. _Maybe __**I**__ need to make more friends._ She thought, absently stirring her tea. A thump on her front porch alerted her to the arrival of the morning newspaper. _Well, that's __**something**__ to take my mind of things._ She opened the door and reached for the papers. _Never did I think to see the day I'd be receiving a wizarding newspaper._ The thought made her mind wonder back to the reason she even bothered with such nonsense, and she smiled. No, not nonsense – nothing that allowed her to keep up with the 'other half of life' was nonsense. Not if it allowed her to be a better mother to Harry. Still smiling, she settled down at the kitchen table and began to skim _The Daily Prophet_. The smile dissolved when she read the morning's headlines.

_**Albus Dumbledore on Probation! Minister Furious!**_

_It was a bitter victory for Headmaster of Albus Dumbledore today as the Wizengamot ruled to place the Grindewauld War hero on probation after finding him guilty of the gross neglect of a minor child, illegal memory modification, and conduct unbecoming of a Ministry official, among others. Minister Cornelius Fudge is absolutely irate with the ruling, which he says "equates to nothing more than a slap on the wrist"._

_"Albus Dumbledore may have defeated Grindewauld back in the 1945," the Minister told the Prophet, "but that does not in any way pardon his grievous misdeeds of the more recent past. Dumbledore willingly did what no true Light wizard would have ever done: he knowingly and willingly concealed – if not outright facilitated – the abuse of a helpless child. That action, coupled with his blatant disregard for the law, shows just how prone towards abusing his power and influence he really is. No man that would commit such inhumane acts against a child should be allowed around them, nor should he be allowed a position in government where he has the resources to allow others to do the same. I am highly disappointed in the Wizengamot, and my heartfelt apologies go out to Mr. Potter's new guardians; I wish I could have done more."_

_For more on Albus Dumbledore, see page 5b._

Loire stared, eyes unseeing, at the article in front of her. She could not believe it – he _got off_! She sat the paper down in favor of her coffee mug. Realizing it was empty, she reached to pour herself another cup. _There has to be __**something**__ I can do to get justice for Harry._ She thought. Looking once again at the paper, she sighed. _But what?_

**Xxx**

In Harry's opinion, the Dining Hall at St. Bartleby's looked more like a five-star restaurant than it did a cafeteria. Shaking his head at the wondrous excess, Harry scanned the room for a familiar face. Spying a certain authoritative youth sitting at a table cornered by two large windows and half-hidden from view by a large weeping willow, he smiled. _Of course Artemis would have the nicest spot._ Harry thought, making his way over to where his new friend sat with two other boys. _He has the best of __**everything**__._

"Hey," Harry said, sliding in the seat across from Artemis, "do you mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all." The taller boy replied, sliding his tray over to make room. "We're glad to have you. Isn't that right guys?"

There were various murmurs of agreement, and Artemis nudged the kid next to him. "Show some manners boys. Introduce yourselves."

The boy, who had short, doll-blonde hair and sparkling violet eyes smiled and stuck out his hand. "I'm Blake Marquis, and the kid next to you is my brother, Blaine."

"Hi," said the boy, who looked like a carbon copy of his brother. "We're twins. Do _you_ have any brothers?"

"Just one, but he goes to Eton. His name is Mark."

"Awesome! I hope _I_ get to go to Eton." Blake said excitedly, "I hear they only let in the best of the best."

"Then I suppose we'll all end up at Eton." Artemis stated knowingly. "After all, we _are_ the best and brightest."

Harry smiled. _So this is what it means to have friends._ He mused, taking a bite out of his cordon bleu. _I like it._

"So," he asked, looking to Artemis, "what kind of things are there to do around here for fun?"

The Marquis brothers exchanged identical mischievous looks. "Depends on what kind of fun you're looking to have."

Artemis cocked an eyebrow, and somehow Harry knew that the four of them would get along just fine.

**Xxx**

The howling wind made the boat rock even more violently, and Cornelius drew his cloak around him as if it could shield him against the lurking terror. _Azkaban_. The mere thought of the place sent shivers of fear down his back. As Minister he was required to visit the foul place once every year to check its condition, and even then he hurried about the place as though its Dementor-induced insanity was catching. _Perhaps Dementors are a bad idea._ He thought. _I'll as Black his opinion on the matter – if he's still sound enough to __**have**__ an opinion._

The rickety boat (_I __**must**__ have that replaced_) butted up against the dock, and the clouds shifted causing what few feeble rays of gray sunlight there were to cast an ominous shadow upon the torrential sea.

Azkaban.

Looking up at the fortress that was both the source of nightmares and the vessel that held them captive, the Minister faltered, wondering for a moment if there wasn't some better way of punishing the criminals inside. _Some of the people in there deserve it,_ he thought as he climbed the craggy steps onto the island, _but some of them are only guilty of misdemeanors. Surely we can find a better place to hold them?_

"Minister, if you would sign your name here? I need to register your wand and verify your identity before you proceed any further."

"What? Oh, yes… of course…" he stuttered, wondering when they had left the stony beach and ventured inside. The walls were either a dark gray or a faded black – he couldn't tell which – and there were spider webs hanging in every crevice. The entire place felt saturated with fear and insanity, and the Minister quickly complied with the Auror's wishes, hoping to get the whole sorry matter over with as soon as possible.

"All clear Minister. Auror Jarvis will escort you to your destination."

Cornelius nodded and followed the tall, pale man before him. As he passed cell after cell, the prison got colder and darker, the sad mockery of sunlight outside having long since given up on reaching the bowels where the most dangerous prisoners were kept.

"Not much further now." The husky Auror said as they turned down a hallway that was somehow more foreboding than the others. "Watch yourself Minister; the LeStranges are at either end of the left side, and the Dementors are housed on the right. Nasty creatures they are. Don't see why we don't just put 'em down. They cause more problems than they solve."

Cornelius nodded. "Perhaps we will." He whispered to himself. He would be happy if the foul things keeled over right now.

"Here we are, sir, cell U713." The Auror waved his wand in a complicated pattern and pressed his hand to the door, making it transparent.

"Can he hear me?" Fudge asked.

"Yes, I can hear you," replied a raspy voice from inside. "Minister, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"So you've still got your wits about you? Good to see."

Harsh laughter came from within the cell. "As much of them as I've managed to save, I wager."

Minister Fudge nodded to Auror Jarvis. "Open the door. Mr. Black, you'll be coming with me. I have a few questions I need you to answer."

The ragged man stood, bones creaking as if they hadn't been used properly in years. "It's about bloody time."

**Xxx**

Phineas Nigellus was dancing in his frame. Oh, if Dumbledore only knew what he knew, perhaps he would leave the Potter child alone. But of course, it would certainly never cross his mind that the 'prophecy' concerning one Boy-Who-Lived and on self-styled Lord Voldemort was a fake. That's not to say that Sybil Trelawney was a fraud – the woman was as genuine a Seer as they get – but that rubbish about parents who 'thrice defied' the Dark and mystical 'powers' that will supposedly conquer the unfathomable evils of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is nothing but drivel, spouted forth to cement the reclusive alcoholic a job. What the current Headmaster should _really_ be concerned with is the prophecy that she made concerning him:

_He who bears twinkling eyes and the richest mane of rouge… shall fall his Darkest Lover, but find himself consumed… With every setting sun, an auburn shall fade to moon… And once all fades, in Urania's shade, shall the tainted meet his doom._


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen**

Six weeks. _Six weeks_. That's how long it took for Sirius to be declared innocent and given compensation for his unjust imprisonment. He shook his head, the rain causing long, dark strands of hair to stick to his face. _Ick_. The first thing, he decided, was to make himself presentable. It wouldn't do for him to walk around looking like an escaped con, especially since he wasn't one. He smiled at that thought. Never did he think he'd walk the streets a free man again, but thanks to the Minister, he was doing exactly that.

That was something of a wonder in itself. The Minister of Magic himself had come to secure Sirius' release from Azkaban, and as far as he could tell, he'd done everything in his power to assure that the once-incarcerated man receive a fair and speedy trial. The Minister had leaned on the Wizengamot to consider all evidence presented for Sirius' defense, and had himself signed the warrant for the arrest of one Peter Pettigrew. Of course, one the traitor had been discovered living at the Weasley residence, the _Prophet_ had had a field day. There had been all kinds of headlines proclaiming the Weasleys to have knowingly harbored a wanted man and suspected mass murderer. Arthur had taken it all in stride, and after he and his family had submitted to rigorous questioning under _Veritaserum_, the Minister had cleared the family of all charges and awarded them several thousand Galleons for turning the rat in.

It had taken several weeks for the Wizengamot to look over all of the evidence presented, as well as question Sirius, the Weasleys, Barty Crouch Sr., Albus Dumbledore, some mysterious source who refused to be named, and (once they had him) Peter Pettigrew, but once they had, Sirius' innocence could not be denied. Pettigrew was sent to Azkaban for life and Barty Crouch Sr. was let go from his position as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Neither of those occurrences surprised Sirius in the least bit. What _was_ surprising was Dumbledore's removal from the Wizengamot after it was discovered that he had known of Sirius' innocence and kept mum about it. Sirius had been angry when he'd found out, but he'd reconciled that anger with the knowledge that the headmaster had most likely been distraught over the deaths of the Potters and had only wanted to see someone punished for their murder. After all, that was why Moony hadn't visited him, wasn't it?

_Speaking of visits_, Sirius thought to himself, _I'm supposed to bestow one upon my dear cousin this afternoon._ That had perhaps been the most surprising – that Lucius and Narcissa had invited him to stay with at Malfoy Manor until he could get his parent's old house habitable again. The letter he'd received at the Leaky Cauldron late last night had implied that Narcissa wished to reconcile with her remaining family members. The reason for the sudden change of heart hadn't been clear, but Sirius had still sent them a letter back agreeing to give it a go. After all, if it didn't work out he could just go back to rooming at the Cauldron.

Somehow though, Sirius doubted that would be necessary.

**Xxx**

Lucius Malfoy stood in the Manor's foyer alongside Narcissa and Draco awaiting the arrival of their guest. At precisely four o'clock the wards announced a visitor on the premises, and Lucius swept out of the ornate French doors and across the plush, green lawn to meet him.

"Sirius," he greeted, shaking the man's hand and clapping him warmly on the shoulder, "welcome to our home. We're glad you could make it. No, don't worry about your luggage; I'll have a house elf bring it up. Dobby! See to Master Black's luggage, and mind you don't jostle it about. Come Sirius, Narcissa is nearly beside herself in anxiety."

"Is she really?"

"Oh yes, quite. She's changed her clothes and Draco's a half dozen times since your letter came this morning, and Merlin's balls don't get me started on the linens."

Sirius laughed. "Is it really that bad?"

Lucius rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "You've no idea. They're garish. Be sure to compliment them, will you? "

Once inside, Narcissa introduced their son and they all adjourned to the sitting room for tea.

"I told you they were horrible, didn't I?" Lucius whispered to Sirius as Narcissa admonished Draco for leaving his training broom lying about.

Sirius snorted into his tea. "Narcissa," he said, "I love what you've done with the place."

Lucius hid his smirk behind a steaming cup of tea. Perhaps reconciling with his estranged cousin wasn't such a bad idea after all.

**Xxx**

Albus Dumbledore was in pickle. The decision to remove him from the Wizengamot had come as a shock to him, and now he wasn't as revered as he had been. It was an inconvenience, yes, but it wasn't anything to write home about. It's not like he couldn't run again next year, after all.

Shaking his head at the small setback, he turned his attention to the students seated before him. Some, like Charlie Weasley, showed great promise. That boy would be quite the Quidditch hero at the rate he was going. Others, like Dorothea Nott, were nothing but trouble. As a matter of fact, _all_ the Slytherins were trouble. It was like they were bred to be the very bane of his existence. After all, it had been the combined plotting of Cornelius and Lucius that had gotten him removed from the Wizengamot. And for all his slinking about in the shadows, Severus was hardly any better. Albus received more missives from angry parents about Snape's biased behavior and classroom ethics (or lack thereof) than he received for all the other professors combined. The only person more loathed than Severus was Argus Filch, and that was only because he oversaw detention.

Albus turned his eyes to the instructor in question, who was currently engrossed in a conversation with Professor Sprout about some new hybrid plant or another. For all his postulation as omniscient, Albus still hadn't been able to figure the slick Potions Master out. The man was an enigma, and if there was anything that the Headmaster hated more that Slytherins, it was _mysterious_ Slytherins. They were always plotting, and keeping secrets, and attempting to take over society, and people like Albus were always expected to stop them. Despite what the general populace (and Wizengamot) believed, he was sick and tired of saving the world. It seemed like every time he knocked out one Dark lord, another one popped up out of the woodwork to take his place. It was infuriating, to say the _very_ least. Was it really too much to ask that parents keep a better handle on their children? Yes, Albus did head the most prestigious school for magical education in the United Kingdom, but with two hundred some-odd students to oversee, he couldn't (and shouldn't) be expected to play the role of parent for every student every second of every day. It was simply _impossible_!

Sighing forlornly, the once- esteemed educator pondered the growing mess that seemed to be the present, all the while pretending to listen to Minerva's ramblings and discreetly attempting to vanish every green vegetable on his plate without Poppy noticing.

Merlin, but how he hated peas.


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen**

Severus Snape was quite pleased with himself. Not only had he managed to get the Potter child removed from those abominations who claimed to be his relatives, but he'd managed to get Alastor on board and knock Albus down a peg or two while doing it.

Ah, the sweet smell of cunning in the morning.

Smiling happily (something that hardly ever happened these days), the usually dour Potions Master dipped his silver Occamy feather quill into a well of his infamous red ink and proceeded to cheerfully embellish some poor Ravenclaws' essay.

Severus sighed contentedly. It was on days like this that he actually _liked_ his job.

**Xxx**

"He's in a good mood, Phineas." Albus said as he paced his office anxiously.

The portrait simply rolled his eyes. "And that concerns me… how?"

"He's never in a good mood."

The portrait only continued to groom himself in his frame. "Well, maybe he's had _relations _with someone. You know, Sybil has had her eye on him for quite some time. Perhaps she's finally managed to get somewhere with the old boy."

The Headmaster stared at the portrait in horror. "Phineas! Be reasonable!"

"Well… no, I suppose you're right. Severus Snape hasn't shown any inclination towards the opposite sex – or even the same sex for that matter – since Lily Evans married James Potter. The girl has been dead for years and you'd think he'd be over it by now, but…" The portrait sighed. "He would have made a very loyal husband, at least, and that's more than could be said for some."

"Yes, but his apparent fidelity is beside the point."

"Mmm… forgive me, Albus – I find myself easily distracted in my old age. What were we talking about?"

"Severus is _happy_. You don't think that's something that needs to be looked into?"

"Albus, I know that you feel it's your duty to be the end-all-beat-all in the Wizarding world, but I think that all your manipulation is causing you to miss certain finer points in life."

"Such as?"

"Well, has it ever occurred to you that the more people who are happy with life, the less there are to join and support rising Dark Lords? Maybe, just _maybe_, if these self-styled 'Dark Lords' had led more fulfilling lives they wouldn't feel the desire to take over the world."

The Headmaster stroked his beard in consideration. "No," he said shaking his head, "some people just like to cause mayhem. It's what they do."

Phineas sighed. _Some people never learn…_

**Xxx**

Loire picked up the mail and smiled as she picked out Harry's messy scrawl and Mark's precise script among the many envelopes.

"Let's see what the boys have to say this week." She said, opening Harry's letter and settling on the couch.

_Dear Mum,_

_I really like Saint Bartleby's. Blake and Blaine are pretty funny guys. They always make me laugh. Artemis is really fun too. And smart. And he has black hair like mine. _

_Artemis has this really, __**really**__ big guy that picks follows him around when we go on trips. His name is Butler. He's really, __**really**__, __**REALLY**__ big. Bigger than Uncle Vernon, even. _

_Artemis says that when we have breaks his mom and dad let him have friends over. He says his mom says if you say it's ok I can come too next time. Can I mum? Please? I never had a friend to visit before._

_Love,_

_Harry_

Loire smiled. It was nice that he was making friends, but this Butler person sounded like a bodyguard of some sort to her. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to Mark's letter.

_Dear Mum,_

_School is coming along fine, and I've managed to ace every test so far. Harry wrote me – apparently he's hanging around the Marquis brothers. I know their brother Bail, and he's an alright guy, if not a bit chipper._

_Has he told you about Artemis yet? He calls me every other day, and I swear he starts off each conversation by recounting some tale of what Artemis did today. For a solid quarter hour, it's "Artemis said this" and "Artemis did that". If I didn't know any better (and perhaps I don't) I'd say that our Harry is in absolute awe of this Artemis fellow. It's kind of cute, in an odd, vaguely annoying sort of way._

_Do you remember when I wrote you about that girl I met over the last weekend? Aimi? She and I were dating, but we're not now. Things got … complicated, I guess, and we decided to call it quits. Dave says she's dating someone else now, but I wouldn't know. Frankly, I don't really care. She can date whomever she likes, as long as it isn't me. _

_The football team will be playing at home this week, and I was wondering if you and Harry would be able to make the trip up. I figured it would be good for him to get out of St. Bartleby's for a bit. You know how he can get if he's cooped up for too long._

_Anyways, write me back will you? I need to know so I can get tickets._

_Love,_

_Mark_

Loire smiled. It was just like Mark to pick up on the not-so-subtle subtleties. _Sometimes Mark is too observant for his own good._ She set their letters aside and flipped through the rest of the post, stopping when a thick envelope bearing a wicked green seal depicting an ornate 'M' with two wands crossed behind it. Breaking the seal, Loire pondered over the peculiarity of receiving a letter from the 'other' Minister.

_From the office of Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic_

_Dear Ms. Baker,_

_This letter is being drafted because there are several instances that have occurred that I believe have bearing on you and your family. I do not know if you have at all kept up with Wizarding press as of late, but recently there has been quite a bit of public outcry against one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. This man, who is also Headmaster of the very prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has been found guilty of the obstruction of justice in the case of one Sirius Marius Black. Mr. Black had been falsely accused of murdering thirteen individuals, and had, until recently, been incarcerated in Azkaban Prison, sentenced for life. _

_This affects you and your family, Ms. Baker, because Mr. Black was named Godfather to your adopted son, Harrison James Potter. For security purposes, we have not disclosed your location to Mr. Black; however, I felt that is was in your best interests to be forewarned of these events. Mr. Black will likely ask to see Mr. Potter at some point in the future and he may even go so far as to try to gain custody of him. I do not at this point believe that you have any reason to worry about losing the newest addition of your family to Mr. Black. Although he was, at some point, young Mr. Potter's Godfather, his time in prison has likely left him unstable and therefore unfit to raise a child. The Ministry cannot, however, refuse him visitation rights. It falls to Mr. Potter's legally guardian (in this case, you) to make such a judgment. _

_Enclosed you will find a petition to restrict Mr. Black's contact with Mr. Potter, if you should choose that route. Simply fill out all applicable lines and mail it in the included pre-paid envelope at your earliest convenience. _

_If there is anything you have questions about or if you are in need of help in any way, please do not hesitate to contact the Ministry of Magic. We are here to serve and protect our citizens, after all, and you are, for all intents and purposes, one of us. _

_Sincerely,_

_Cornelius Oswald Fudge_

_Minister for Magic_


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen**

"Wow!" Harry exclaimed as the sleek black vehicle pulled into the circular drive in front of Fowl Manor.

"Do you like it?" Artemis inquired, sliding Harry a sideways look to gauge his reaction.

"It's _huge_!"

"You think so?"

"_Yes_ I think so! Artemis, my house could fit _inside_ your house! And the house I live in is three stories tall!"

Artemis smoothed out his shirt. "But do you _like_ it?" he asked again.

"It's awesome! Say, are there any secret passages in your house? I bet there are. Mark says that a lot of really old, big buildings like this have secret passages and forgotten rooms and such. Do you know where they are? Can we explore them?"

Artemis laughed, relieved that his newest friend found his home acceptable. "If Butler says it's safe, then we can. I don't know how old some of the areas are, and I'm really not to keen on getting hurt."

"Well _duh_." Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "I don't think _anyone_ is keen on getting hurt. Oh, look! A bunny!"

The two youths watched as the small animal dashed around the side of the house and out of sight.

"Do you like rabbits, Harry?" Artemis asked, climbing out of the car and standing next to his friend.

"I love them! They're my favorite animal, after snakes of course. But Mum would never let me have a snake. Mark says she's afraid of them. Terrified even. Mark likes dogs, but Mum won't let us have one of those either, because Mark and I both board. Mum says that if we're going to have a pet, we should be around to take care of it." Harry chattered, his voice quietly echoing off the marble floor of the entryway.

"But what about a rabbit? The Headmaster let Ian Cole bring a hamster to St. Bartleby's, maybe he'd allow you to have a rabbit."

"I don't know. I'd have to ask my mum, I guess." The smaller boy shrugged, flopping down on Artemis' bed. It was large and soft and dressed in an equally soft duvet with coordinating pillows.

Artemis watched as Harry looked around his room, and found himself worrying over whether he would like it or not. After several agonizingly long minutes in which Harry said nothing, Artemis finally plucked up the courage to ask what he thought of it all.

"It's yellow," came the simple reply.

Artemis sighed, joining Harry on the bed with a small amount of trepidation. "And?"

Harry turned to Artemis with a cheery smile. "My room at home is yellow too. It's my favorite color."

Artemis grinned, very much relieved. "I'm glad."

**Xxx**

"I was thinking about visiting my godson." Sirius announced at breakfast. It had been a few weeks since he had begun staying with Narcissa and her husband, and he'd decided that enough time had passed since Harry's apparent adoption for a visit to be proper.

Lucius smiled into his cup. "Really? Well, I suppose it _would_ be prudent to check up on him. Just to make sure he's happy. Were you planning on petitioning for custody?"

Sirius shook his head. "Not unless I have a reason to believe that he's unhappy or that he's not being treated well."

"Why don't I come with you?" Narcissa offered, oblivious to her husband's plotting. "We could take Draco. I think it would do him some good to interact with other children his age. Not to say that Vincent and Gregory aren't acceptable playmates, but…" Here she trailed off, looking to Lucius for the right words.

"They don't exactly provide much of a _challenge_ for Draco. He needs more stimulation than they can provide." The blonde aristocrat supplied.

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. It was true; Vincent and Gregory weren't the brightest in the box. Draco was extremely bright, and he sometimes tired of their simple ways. _Lily and James were always very bright,_ he remembered fondly, _perhaps Harry will be the same._ "It's a solid plan," he announced after several moments of contemplation. "I'll see if I can't arrange a play date."

"Splendid!" Lucius said, setting down his newspaper. "Draco, would you like to meet your cousin Harry?"

"Of course." The boy responded, realizing that the choice had already been made for him.

Sirius smiled at the child's answer. "I'll get right on it then." He announced, withdrawing from the room.

Lucius only whistled jauntily as Narcissa prattled on to Draco about how much fun he was going to have. Everything was going according to plan.

**Xxx**

"Halloween!" Harry shrieked, catapulting out of his bed and into Artemis'. "Wake up Arty! It's Halloween!"

The other boy responded by swinging a pillow in Harry's general direction. "It's not even sunrise yet Harry. Go back to bed."

The smaller boy only folded his arms and pouted. "So? It's a _holiday_, isn't it? You should be excited! We're going to stay at my house this weekend. You'll finally get to meet my brother, and my mum says that a man named Sirius is bringing my cousin. And Blake and Blaine will be there too. Come _on_ Artemis!" he said, pulling on his friend's blankets in an effort to rouse him, "Get _up_!"

There was a yelp followed by the taller boy springing out of bed faster than Harry had ever seen him move before, PE included. "What was that for?" he yelled, shivering in his soaked flannel pajamas.

Harry only stared at him in shock.

"Well?" Artemis demanded, glaring at his dumfounded friend.

"I swear I didn't mean for it to happen." Harry finally said. "I just can't help it sometimes."

"I fail to believe that you 'can't help' dousing me with ice water at five-thirty in the blasted morning." Artemis clipped, frowning.

"Sorry." Harry whispered sincerely.

Artemis sighed, rubbing his arms. "Yes, well… hand me a towel, why don't you? Christ, but it's freezing in here."

Harry smiled. For all his theatrics, it seemed that Artemis wasn't mad after all. The boy in question only took the offered towel and, wrapping it around himself like a cloak, stalked into the bathroom and proceeded to get dressed.

Harry looked at Artemis' bed. _I really have to get a better handle on my magic,_ he thought. _Otherwise it'll be no time at all before Artemis catches on._

Little did he know, his best friend had already figured it out.

**Xxx**

Little Whinging was a quaint little suburban area, located approximately forty kilometers southwest of London. The air was much cleaner than in the city, and each of the two-story houses sported a neatly manicured lawn and a pristine auto in the drive.

To Sirius, it was like stepping into one of those strange television programs that Lily used to gush about - the ones with the pompous men and swooning women. '_Soap operas.' _he remembered.

"There it is!" Narcissa cried in the seat next to him. He followed her gaze to a house with a bright blue door adorned with a bronze number six. Underneath each window was a large jack-o-lantern, and the walkway was littered with red and gold leaves. The house was very festive and inviting, and for a moment Sirius was swept away into memories of a similar house in a different place.

After parking the borrowed car (where Lucius managed to find one on such short notice, he had no idea), the two adults made their way to the door, an anxious blonde practically bouncing up the path between them.

"Remember Draco, we are guests here." Narcissa told her son while smoothing his hair.

"Yes Mother," came the not-quite-solemn reply.

Sirius rang the buzzer, a soft yet clear bell sound echoing throughout the home. Several moments later the door opened to reveal a tall youth with brown hair and honey colored eyes.

"Hello," he said, "you must be Harry's relatives. Come on in – we've been expecting you." The teen waved them into a neat entry way that sported a doorway on each side and a staircase directly in front. "I'm Mark by the way," he said, taking their coats and hanging them on hooks by the door. "I go to Eton."

"Nice to meet you," Sirius said shaking his hand. "I'm Sirius Black and this is my cousin Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco."

After pleasantries were exclaimed, the group adjourned to the sitting room, where refreshments had been laid out.

"Where is everyone?" Sirius asked, surveying the various pictures and awards lining the mantle.

"Probably in Harry's room – I'll fetch them."Mark replied, disappearing to some other area of the house. A moment later, movement could be heard somewhere above them, followed by footsteps on the stairs.

"I'm sorry," said a woman as she entered the room, "I didn't even here the bell go. I'm Loire Baker."

Sirius shook her hand as Mark introduced everyone, eyes surveying the woman who was now his godson's mother. Loire Baker was neither short nor particularly tall, with dark hair and kind eyes the same warm honey color as Mark's. She was older than him – around her mid-thirties if he was to venture a guess – and she had an easy manner that Sirius instantly took a liking to.

Over the course of their visit, Sirius found that he was not the least bit sorry that Harry had found a mother in her.

**Xxx**

To say that Draco and Artemis didn't get along would be an understatement of massive proportions. Once the five boys had retreated to Harry's bedroom, it had been war nonstop.

Harry figured that perhaps Artemis and Draco were simply too much alike to get along. After all, they both came from similar backgrounds. Each boy was an only child with wealthy, doting parents, and each lived in homes large enough to swallow Number Six whole. They both had servants (though to call Butler a servant felt like an insult to the imposing man), and they both had two nearly-inseparable best friends.

The Marquis brothers thought it amusing. Harry thought it annoying.

"Would you two knock it off already!" he yelled, cutting into their argument about the merits of having a stable full of horses versus an aviary full of white peacocks.

"What's bloody use of a _peacock_?" Artemis said glaring at Draco. "You can't even ride them!"

"Artemis…" Blake groaned, covering his face in mock agony.

"Just tell me what the use of a peacock is, and I'll stop."

Blaine only shook his head. "Oi mate, just let it alone already."

"No, really, just-"

"ARTEMIS!"

The raven-haired boy huffed and crossed his arms. "Fine," he said, clearly unhappy. "I'll let his stupid peacocks alone."

"They are _not_ stupid!" Draco argued. "It's your bloody _horses_ that are stupid! They're nothing but big, smelly, disease-ridden-"

"They _are_ _not_ disease-ridden! I'll have you know that our horses are perfectly healthy and well-mannered!" Artemis stated, looking down his nose at the shorter blonde boy. "And it's your _peacocks_ that aren't normal! Who's ever heard of a _white_ peacock? They're probably albino – I'll bet they've got beady little red eyes and everything!"

"They are _not_! They're _magnificent_!"

"They're _inbred_, that's what they _are_."

Draco turned red in anger.

"Cut it out!" Harry bellowed, heartily sick of their bickering, "What's the _matter_ with you guys? We're supposed to be having _fun_!"

Embarrassed by their behavior, each boy looked anywhere except at Harry of each other. After a few moments of silence, Harry sighed. _'This is stupid'_ he thought.

"You're right," Artemis said finally. "I'm sorry I've been acting like a prat."

"Too right you were," Draco sniffed haughtily, "There's absolutely _nothing_ wrong with peacocks."

"Draco…" Harry sighed.

"Oh, all right!" he huffed. "I'm sorry too! Happy?"

Harry shared a look with Blaine and Blake. _This Malfoy kid might be my cousin, but Merlin if he isn't a snob!_

"So…" Blaine said hopefully, "Can we have fun now?"


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen**

The winter holidays were Cornelius Fudge's favorite time of the year. He absolutely adored everything about it – from the sound of sleigh bells and laughing children, to the smell of fresh baked sweets and crisp, white snow. His favorite part, however, was the annual Winter Ball that was hosted by the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts bank. The event was a formal one, where everyone in attendance put on their very best and spent the evening in good spirits. It was a time for building bonds, and laying to rest past grievances. It was a time for dancing and socializing and good will towards men, and Cornelius usually spent the evening catching up with friends and enjoying the way Amelia Bones' robes glittered in the soft light.

The very thought of the evening had the typically subdued Minister smiling to himself in anticipation. Yes, the winter hols were _definitely_ his favorite time of the year.

**Xxx**

Mark Baker was bored stiff. The end of term was fast approaching, and for the restless teen, it couldn't come fast enough.

"Mr. Baker!" his History instructor barked, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Yes sir?" He answered dully.

"I realize that the holidays are nearly upon us, but please, pay attention. Classes are not out yet, and your mother is paying good money for your education. The least you could do is try to make the most of it."

"I apologize, sir. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." the balding man huffed before turning back to the board and resuming his lecture.

Mark sighed. It was times like these when he wished he attended a day school.

**Xxx**

Lucius Malfoy was not a selfish man. Every year, just before Christmas, he made a large donation to the most prestigious magical hospital on the British Isles: Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. While St. Mungo's certainly wasn't the _only_ hospital in the area for magical people, it _was_ the best staffed and the most well-known. Unlike other private hospitals, St. Mungo's was funded partially by the government, and partially by private firms and investors – like Lucius. To the Malfoy patriarch however, it was more than a place to cure illnesses – it was the place where he and his ancestors had breathed their first (and in some cases, their last) breath. It was where his father had been born, where he himself had been born, and (perhaps most importantly), where he'd stood proudly by as his son was born.

Draco was his light – more so than Narcissa even – and his birth had been the single most inspiring moment of Lucius' life. There had been nothing more magical than holding his son for the first time. He still remembered quite fondly the way the small child had stretched and yawned before opening his eyes and promptly sneezing in his father's face. Lucius chuckled to himself as he reminisced. If anyone else had sneezed on him, he would have pitched a right fit – newborn infant or no. But when Draco had done it… The blonde shook his head, long strands of his hair falling into his face.

And that was another thing, he supposed: his hair. Lucius had never really been fond of wearing it long, but when Draco had taken a fistful of it to chew on that very first day he knew he would never _really_ get rid of it. As impractical as it was, his son had taken a keen liking to his silky locks, using them as everything from a teething ring, to a curtain to hide behind when playing peek-a-boo, to a tether to keep him from falling off his father's shoulders. Yes, his hair was a nuisance – especially when it came to brewing potions – but his son adored playing in it, and Lucius would put up with it if it meant Draco was happy.

The patter of footsteps announced the arrival of the much cherished child long before his cry of "Father!" did. Lucius swept Draco up into his arms and settled him on his lap, smiling contentedly as the small boy proceeded to tell him excitedly about what he'd done whilst out with his mother.

_This,_ he thought, _is what Christmas is all about._

**Xxx**

_Three weeks, _Harry thought, crossing another day off on his calendar. _Only three weeks until Christmas. _He could hardly wait. After Halloween, Christmas was his favorite holiday. When he lived at Number Four, it was one of the only days where the Dursleys were guaranteed not to be mean to him, so long as he remembered to stay out of the way. Usually, Harry was made to cook, but Christmas was the one time of the year that Aunt Petunia did all the cooking herself. Sometimes, she would even forget that Harry wasn't allowed _normal_ food, and she'd give him a broken gingerbread man while Dudley and Vernon weren't looking.

This year was going to be different – Harry was sure of it. This Christmas he would have presents and a big dinner and all the sweets he could eat. He'd have friends and a brother, and a _mother_ even. Harry had never even imagined that he would have a mother. Until Loire adopted him, he was sure that you only got one mum and one dad, and that when they were gone you didn't get any new ones.

Looking at the picture on his desk from Halloween, Harry decided that he didn't need presents, really. He had a brother and a mum – a real live mum! – and that was enough for him.

**Xxx**

Artemis was perturbed. He'd finally gotten around to confronting Harry about his seemingly magical powers, and what he'd been told wasn't exactly what he'd expected to hear.

_Harry is a wizard._ He mused for the umpteenth time. _And not just any old wizard, he's a __**famous**__ wizard! A __**hero**__ even!_ Looking at his friend, he couldn't really see anything that reminded him of a hero. After all, Batman was a hero and he was tall and strong and mysterious-looking, and he had a deep voice and a Batmobile and an arch nemesis. Harry had none of those things. In fact, the only _really_ remarkable thing about him was that he could do magic, and from what he'd told Artemis, there were plenty of people who could do _that_. Harry had confided that he didn't like being famous, and that the only reason other wizards were so amazed by him is because he'd done something that no one had before. Artemis had simply nodded his understanding and told him that a lot of people became famous for being the first to do something – even if it _was_ something they hadn't really meant to do – and that he shouldn't worry too much about it. Soon, someone else was bound to do something that had never been done before, and then everyone would focus on them instead.

_But if that was true, why hasn't it happened yet? _

That was a question that not even his father had been able to answer, and Artemis was sure that his father – a prodigy in his own right – knew the answer to everything there was an answer _for_. It left a bad taste in his mouth that people were still obsessed with Harry even after all the time that had passed since he accidentally performed his amazing feat. _Like watching your mother murdered in front of you and living to tell the tale is something that __**anyone**__ would want to be famous for. _ Artemis didn't understand why people couldn't just let it go. It wasn't like people didn't live despite overwhelming odds to the contrary every day. Honestly, you'd think these 'wizards' would have better things to do with themselves.

But the Wizarding world's apparent fascination in itself wasn't what worried Artemis. There were loads of famous people milling about. His own _father_ was famous, depending on who you talked to. No, what bothered Artemis about the entire ordeal was that the people who considered Harry famous seemed to be on the extreme side fanaticism. These people were so fanatical in fact, that they weren't allowed to even know where Harry lived, for fear of him being kidnapped. They'd probably do anything to get a piece of 'The Boy-Who-Lived' – Harry – and that worried Artemis more than he could say. Harry was his best friend, and Artemis didn't want anything bad to happen to him. His parents had probably worried about his own safety the same way – that was why they had Butler and Juliet.

_Perhaps I could find Harry a Butler-type person of his own. _ Artemis mused. _Then he would be safe, and there wouldn't be any need to worry._

The plan, he decided, was worth looking into, and he resolved to call Butler the very next morning.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** So, I know it's been a while, and again, I make no excuses. This chapter holds some information that is definitely important to the development of the plot – even though it may seem like it doesn't. Please feel free to drop me a review when you're done – I love it when you pester me!

**Seventeen**

December 24th dawned bright and cold, the gently falling snow making the world outside Mark Baker's window seem like a giant snow globe. He had been on leave from Eton for the Winter Hols for half a week now, and the young man had waited for this day to come with bated breath since October. After all, today was an important day for the youth.

Today was Mark Baker's sixteenth birthday.

**Xxx**

Harry was excited. Today was the day before Christmas, and this year he had more than just the holiday to celebrate. There were no Dursleys, there was no cupboard, and perhaps best of all, there would be no loneliness. But today was exciting for reasons other than it being Christmas Eve – today was his brother's birthday!

Harry could barely contain himself he was so excited. He felt that Mark was his hero. He had saved Harry from having to live with the horrid Dursleys, and now he would never have to sleep in a filthy old cupboard again. Harry had a real room, with a real bed and dresser, and a real family – complete with a wicked cool older brother, and a kind, loving mother. The holiday proper wasn't for another eighteen hours or so, but it was quickly shaping up to be the best one that Harry had ever had. He was even going to a holiday party!

A large soiree – whatever _that_ was – was being hosted at Fowl Manor on Boxing Day, and Harry, Mark and their mum (Harry shuddered with delight at the thought of having a real _mum_) would be attending. He and Mark had even needed to purchase whole new outfits for the visit, and despite his grumbling, Harry knew that Mark was just as anxious as he was to wear it to the party. After all, it was clear to anyone that Mark had a _thing_ for Juliet Butler. Juliet was Butler's (for the hundredth time Harry wonder what his _first_ name was) younger sister and she was very pretty. But Harry thought Mark liked her because she liked to watch James Bond movies and had a black belt in Tae Kwan Do. Mark, Harry knew, seemed to like really athletic girls, and Juliet was exactly that.

Humming quietly to himself, Harry made his way to Mark's room and was quite surprised to see that the birthday boy was already awake. Not the least bit discouraged, the enthusiastic six-year-old shot across the room and threw himself upon his older brother, sending the both of them toppling off the far side of the bed.

"Bloody - Oomph!" Mark exclaimed in surprise as he found himself on the floor with a bundle of hyper child piled on top of him.

"Happy birthday!" Harry yelled, throwing his arms around his brother's neck. "How does it feel to be sixteen?"

Mark groaned and sat up, looking at Harry in mock anger. "Sore," he said, rubbing his head. "But I imagine it's better than being seven."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, curious. Being seven wasn't that bad, was it?

"Because, if I remember correctly, being seven _tickles_!" Mark answered, advancing on his brother with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Harry's eyes widened and he took off at a run, his screech of "Noooooo!" echoing off the walls as Mark chased him throughout the house.

Minutes later, the smaller child lay panting on the parlor floor, grinning from ear to ear. It was official: Harry Potter _loved_ Christmas!

**Xxx**

Sirius Black was distraught. This was his first Christmas since he was released from Azkaban, and he would not be spending it with his godson. The spirited child had opted instead to spend the holiday with his new family, and would be spending Boxing Day with his newfound friends. While Sirius was happy that young Harry had found a loving home and loyal (if not a bit eccentric) friends, he had sincerely hoped that the youth would have jumped at the chance to get to know more about his birth parents.

It seems though, that Sirius would have to suffer through the disappointment. His beloved godson would not be joining him for Christmas, nor, it seemed, would he be joining him for New Year's. Apparently, the six-year-old was to make his first public appearance – at the Ministry's annual Winter Ball. Held New Year's Day every year, the Ball was the biggest – and for those aspiring politicians, most important – party of the year. Held in conjunction with Gringotts Bank, the benefits from the entire evening went to the Magical Wildlife Preservation Fund, and funded efforts to keep the most endangered and dangerous of magical creature and plant life protected from both Muggle and Wizarding poachers alike.

When he had first read the letter detailing Harry's reluctance to spend part of the holidays with him, Sirius and scoffed. The child was seven, and his so-called 'mother' had already consented to his being paraded about the Ministry like a show dog. _I wonder if she taught him any tricks._ He mused to himself angrily. Almost immediately he felt terrible for thinking such a thing. Harry was not a pet, and if he was happy rubbing elbows with snobby purebloods then who was Sirius to disagree? Surely Loire was only doing what she thought best for him? _But how would she know?_ A nasty little voice whispered from his subconscious. _She's a __**Muggle**__. What would she know about raising a wizard proper?_

Sirius pondered this thought quietly. It was true that Loire Baker was a Muggle, but did that mean that she was an unfit guardian? Clearly she already had one child – Mark – and he seemed to have turned out fairly well, hadn't he?

_But she can't protect him from the threat of ill-meaning wizards and witches now can she?_ The voice countered maliciously.

Sirius only shrugged, admitting to himself that the voice had a point. She _couldn't_ protect him from Wizarding folk looking to do Harry harm – but according to 'Mad Eye' Moody, Mark could. He'd talked to the paranoid old codger, and the elder man had admitted meeting Mark under less than ideal circumstances, and the teen had protected Harry from Moody (whom they both had assumed to be a threat) quite admirably, Muggle or no.

_But Mark won't always be around, will he?_

That was also a valid point. While Mark may be able to protect Harry from any conceivable threats, the two youths attended separate schools, and even if they didn't Mark wouldn't be with Harry all the time. But with friends like Artemis Fowl, Sirius wondered if he really had to worry about his godson while he was at school. If there were any problems, Sirius was sure that Artemis' bodyguard Butler would take care of it. He was, after all, a very capable individual.

_Yes, but would he be able to protect the boys against __**magic**__?_

That was the crux of the issue, Sirius realized. Was Harry sufficiently protected from magical threats, or was he not? And if not, would the protections against Muggles be enough to keep him safe?

It was well into the afternoon before Sirius emerged from his thoughts on the subject, and, several days later, those thoughts would _not_ be well-received.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** You know, I did a search just recently for Harry Potter – Artemis Fowl Crossovers on and I didn't really find that many. Or at least, I didn't find much more than one-shots and stories that had been abandoned. I find that odd, since they're so popular by themselves. Ah well, perhaps I can corner the market, even is this isn't a "true" crossover. LOL.

**Eighteen**

Albus Dumbledore was content. The annual Winter Ball, held by the Ministry of Magic, was that very evening, and the wizened Headmaster was all a-tingle with anticipation and delight. The Ball was the perfect place for him to catch up with his old friends as well as keep an eye on his enemies. _Not to mention stock up on lemon drops and enjoy the latest bit of gossip._ He thought, whistling a jaunty tune. Turning to his wardrobe and flinging the doors wide open, he began the long and detailed process of finding the perfect robes to go with his new socks. _After all_, he mused, holding up a navy blue robe with hot pink pinstripes, _one must show exceptional coordination at an event as important as this!_

**Xxx**

Arnold Whitley was a very important man – especially to his competitors. Graced with good looks, a law degree, and an extremely persuasive tongue, the man was a hard one to win against. He was such a successful law-wizard in fact, that it was rumored that whatever Whitley wanted, Whitley got.

Right now, he wanted to chuck the reckless idiot that was Sirius Black out of his office.

"Mr. Black," he drawled, his voice dripping with barely contained displeasure, "I understand why you are upset, and I am honored to have been selected to represent you in this instance, but the Ministry is closed at this moment, and in several minutes my office will follow suit. Even if we were not closing early today, it is still a holiday, and the Ministry, Gringotts, and all of their subsidiaries are still closed. There is nothing that I can do for you this afternoon. You will simply have to wait until the world goes back to work on Monday."

"But Mr. Whitley, surely there is _something_ you can do tonight?" the brunette inquired, completely oblivious to the law-wizard's weariness.

"Mr. Black, it has been a long day for me, and I assure you that there is precious little I can do beyond filling out paperwork that would be of no use before Monday."

"But Lucius Malfoy-"

"—would not want to keep me from my family on a holiday." Arnold rebuked, eyeing Sirius rather sternly over the rim of the square-framed glasses he wore only for show. "Come back on Monday – surely nothing untoward will happen to the boy before then? He is, after all, under Auror protection."

Duly chastened, Sirius simply nodded and took his leave.

Arnold sighed. "Cassandra?" he called to his secretary, "Schedule an appointment for Mr. Black before you leave. The earliest we have available."

"I already have," came the reply, "You can expect him at ten."

Arnold only nodded to himself, gathered his cloak, and set off for home.

Monday was going to be a long day.

**Xxx**

"Wow…" Harry breathed as the Minister escorted him into the Grand Ballroom. Located on Level 8 – the same level as the Minister's office – the Grand Ballroom had an enchanted ceiling, marble columns, and glistening hardwood flooring. Lit by a large central chandelier, several wall sconces, and more fairy lights than Harry had ever witnessed before, the luxurious room inspired an air of wonder and imagination in all of its occupants – most especially the seven-year-old Boy-Who-Lived.

"So, Harry," the Minister said, watching the elated child eyes dart from one thing to the next, "what do you think?"

"I think it's _brilliant_!" he exclaimed. "Look – there's Draco!"

The Minister followed Harry's pointed finger to its source (all the while admonishing him for pointing in the first place) and, eyes alighting on the tell-tale mop of platinum blonde, nodded in agreement. "So it is."

"Can we go talk to him?" Harry asked, literally bouncing with excitement. "Please, sir, can we?"

"_May_ we," Cornelius corrected, "And yes, we shall. Did you know that Draco's father, Lucius, is a good friend of mine?"

Harry's emerald eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" he breathed in awe, "Really, really? Draco says his father is a really great wizard! Do you think I'll be a great wizard someday?"

The Minister looked down at Harry, studying him with a look of amusement and something else Harry couldn't quite figure out. "I'm sure that you will be. You are, after all, The-Boy-Who-Lived."

**Xxx**

Artemis Fowl II was scowling. While not an uncommon occurrence in itself, today was a holiday, and days such as this one usually saw the studious child in good spirits.

"Artemis," Butler asked, "is something wrong?"

Artemis emerged from his mood long enough to look at Butler in a most peculiar way. "Look at this," he said motioning to something on one of the room's many monitors, "What do you make of that?"

The burly man examined the screen in front of him for several moments. If Artemis were to chance a guess, the hardened bodyguard was every bit as confused as he was.

"I have no idea." Butler replied at last. "Do you?"

"No. Nor do I have an idea of what it _might_ be either. I am at a complete loss, yet I feel as though the answer is right in front of me… like I should know this…"

"You're a genius Artemis, there's no doubt about it," the man consoled, "but you don't know _everything_."

"But I want to." Artemis replied simply.

Butler sighed. "No one knows everything, Artemis. Even if it _were_ possible for a single person to store all of that information in their mind, I'm not entirely sure it would be a good idea."

The quiet child only shrugged, his attention returning to the screen in front of him. "I can try."

**Xxx**

Severus Snape was in a wondrous mood. Here he sat in his favorite chair, drinking his favorite whiskey from his favorite glass, with his feet propped up on his favorite ottoman, reading the latest edition of his favorite magazine – _The Brewer's Bulletin_. This month's issue had a positively _riveting_ article detailing the headway of esteemed Grand Potions Master Jubilias Boorke, into the development of a cure for prolonged exposure to mind-altering magics. Severus, who once studied under the revered Grand Master, was amazed at the man's findings. _'Genius,'_ he thought as he read the article, _'pure, unadulterated genius!'_ So absorbed was he in this ground-breaking development in Potions, that he was only bought out of his reading when the Bloody Barron floated into his parlor and informed him quite rudely that Sybil Trelawney had been knocking on his door for nearly a quarter of an hour.

The usually dour Potions Master (soon to be _Grand_ Master – that is, if he could ever get free of his blasted teaching position!) jumped up at the sound of the specter's voice and headed to the door.

"Sybil," he greeted, "how unexpected. Is there something that I can do for you?"

"Not particularly," she said inviting herself into his quarters, "actually, it is I who can help _you_."

Severus sighed. _'Not this again…'_ he thought morosely, _'I swear, if I didn't have Poppy's word assuring me otherwise, I'd think the woman was daft!'_ Every year, she propositioned him, and every year he refused. He simply was not attracted to the woman, and apparently, _she_ was unfamiliar with the word '_no_'.

"Sybil, if I have said it once, then I have said it a thousand times: I am _not_ interested in you in any way – not even professionally. Now," he said, ushering her off of his sofa and back out into the corridor, "I bid you good evening. Please don't bother me with your ridiculous antics again." That said, he shut the door firmly in her face, and went back to enjoying all of his favorite things.

'_If only the woman wasn't such a bloody Hufflepuff, perhaps she would have realized the folly of her idea and given up.'_

**Xxx**

Remus Lupin shuddered in the pervasive cold as he stripped out of his thread bare robes and neatly folded them. The full moon would rise any minute now, and he couldn't really afford to ruin what little clothing he had during his transformations. Walking down into the cellar of the stark, one bedroom shack he called home, the thin man buckled a leather collar around his neck and, upon reaching his destination, tethered himself to the reinforced concrete post in the center of the room with a sigh.

It was going to be a long, _long_ night.

**Xxx**

Mark Baker was bored stiff.

Several hours ago Cornelius Fudge had arrived to escort his younger brother, Harry, to some Ministry-sponsored ball. While he had been excited for his brother at the time, now was a different story. Stuck indoors due to the cold weather and without anyone to play videogames with, the strapping teen was resigned to laying about on his bed and staring out the frost-covered window.

"God, but I'm bored," he murmured to himself, "I wonder what Basil is doing."

Picking up the telephone next to his bed, Mark punched the appropriate numbers on the device, and was soon chattering away happily to his friend.

Several topics later, while the two boys were discussing Eton's hockey standing, Mark saw a dark shape flit past his window. Shrugging it off as either a clump of snow or a trick of the light, he returned his attention to his telephone conversation. A few moments later, another dark shape flitted past his window, followed by a flash of light. Intrigued, Mark moved closer to the window to get a better look.

Peering through the darkened glass into the equally darkened lawn below, he saw the outline of two people. Mark quickly decided that from the flash of light he'd seen earlier, at least one of the figures outside had to be a witch or wizard – most likely one of the Aurors stationed at the home. After several moments of observation during which the two figures seemed to only be conversing, the brunette turned away from the window and back to his conversation. Seconds later, shouting was heard (thought what was being said, Mark didn't know) and there were several flashes of light accompanied by more shouting and the sound of a tree branch crashing to the ground. Suddenly, the house went black.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Mark exclaimed, searching his bedside table for a flashlight.

"Mark?" Basil asked, the concern in his voice apparent despite the distance, "Mark, what's going on over there? Is everything alright?"

"I don't know," Mark answered, locating the flashlight and turning it on, "the power just went out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes – the lights went off suddenly and my clock isn't working at all. There must be a down power line somewhere."

"Oh… what do you think happened? Think the wind blew it down?"

"I don't think so. Listen Basil, I think there are people outside my house. I'm going to go downstairs and make sure the house is secure. If I don't call you back in ten minutes, I want you to call the police, ok? Something could have happened."

"Alright. Talk to you in ten, I guess." With that, the other boy ended the call.

"Now," Mark said, pointing his flashlight at the floor and creeping as quietly as he could out of his room, "let's find out what in the blue blazes is going on around here."

**Xxx**

Kingsley Shacklebolt was both cold and wet. While some of the other Aurors had been assigned to stick close to the boy, Kingsley and a few others had been charged with keeping an eye on the remaining resident. Consequentially, when Loire Baker had left to go visit her mother, several of the others had left with her. As it stood, only Kingsley and Gawain Robards were left to protect the home front and the remaining resident inside.

While it had seemed like the two of them would be sufficient protection at the time it was decided, somehow Kingsley doubted it would be enough to assure his safety now. There was an intruder on the premises, and they had already taken out his partner.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **For all of you who were wondering what happened to the Dursleys, well… suffice to say that you're about to find out. Also, I was hoping to make this chapter a bit longer, but after a few weeks I decided to cut it off where it is and just update already.

**Nineteen**

Petunia Dursley paced the kitchen in absolute fear. Her husband, Vernon, had left their house nearly three hours ago and had yet to return. Since then she had heard nothing from him, and what had once been vague worry had progressed into terror. Recently, Vernon had taken to stalking the house and cursing her thrice-damned nephew under his breath. While he could certainly be an angel when he wanted to, her husband had a talent for nursing a grudge. Petunia had a bad feeling about what her husband had decided to get up to this evening.

_Oh Vernon, _she thought desperately, _please say you haven't done anything reckless._

Unfortunately for her (and her husband), Vernon had gone to do _exactly_ that.

**xxx**

Vernon Dursley was neither a kind man, nor a particularly forgiving one. In fact, he was quick tempered and exceedingly good at holding a grudge. In fact, he was so good at holding grudges, that the revenge he was taking tonight would be nearly five years in the making. He had tried – really he had – to tolerate that blasted freak that had been left on his doorstep, but the way he had been forced to uproot his family because of him was the proverbial straw the broke the camel's back. He'd had to leave his house – _his house _- that he'd had built for Petunia as a wedding present; the house that he had toiled, and bartered, and _groveled_ for because of that ungrateful whelp that he'd have never taking in if he'd had any say in the matter.

Vernon could still remember the day he had been lumped with the whelp as if it were yesterday. He'd gone to get the morning paper from the porch and had found that _abomination_ on the front stoop instead! No one had ever asked him or Petunia if they would take him in – if they could _afford_ to take him in, and when they had dropped him off at an orphanage the other freaks brought him back! They _threatened_ him and Petunia, said they would do unspeakable things to their poor Dudley, if they did not house the boy. He and his wife had been _forced_ to take him in with no consideration to themselves or their son and with no offer of support of any kind from those _abnormal_ individuals. Of course, times were different now, but back then… The house wasn't fully paid for, and it had been quite the expense to build. And the property taxes? Even now Vernon shuddered to think of the things he'd sacrificed to keep a roof over his family's heads. He'd done everything he could, and was just making enough for the upkeep of his home and family with a little extra for Dudley's college fund and the rare night out when they'd found themselves saddled with the brat. What was worse is that the stupid abominations that had forced him to take the boy in hadn't left any paperwork, and so Vernon hadn't been able to apply for any sort of tax breaks or government aid for housing the orphan. He'd had to dip into the money he and Pet had put away for Dudley's education just to buy the basics for the child, and then the ungrateful runt had gone and set them ablaze! It had been the cupboard after that, and even though he could afford more now, the damage had been done. How many times had the child traumatized his poor Dudley by sticking him to the ceiling, or spelling his toys to act like live animals? How many times had he set the curtains ablaze, or ruined the carpet, or caused some other travesty to occur due to his freakishness? And Vernon, even though he couldn't afford to replace the things that were destroyed, had taken it all in stride and tried his hardest to keep his peace. Even when the boy had kept him up at night, even when his _unnaturalness_ had Petunia hysterical and Dudley in _tears_ he had stayed his temper and allowed the boy to stay. And how was he rewarded for his perseverance? He was forced out of his own home! And by those same, inconsiderate, uppity, _freaks_ no less!

Well, Vernon Dursley had had all he could take and _then_ some, and he'd be damned if the ungrateful brat and those god-forsaken _wizards_ didn't get their comeuppance tonight.

**Xxx**

Kingsley Shaklebolt stared at the robust Muggle in front of him in indecision. As an Auror, he was required to carry out his assigned task to this best of this ability. In this instance, it meant protecting Number Six Privet Drive and its current occupant. _However_, as an Auror has was also very well versed in Wizarding law, and knew it to be expressly against said law to use magic on a Muggle without severe provocation. Muggles did not possess the ability to perform magic, and unlike Squibs, they did not have the knowledge of how to counter its effects with non-magical means. Consequently, performing any magic against a Muggle that would do anything other than save their lives or safely alter their memories was considered Muggle-baiting and was expressly forbidden. It was so reprehensible in fact, that it carried a six thousand Galleon fine and six months in Azkaban. If Kingsley used any magic against this Muggle (or any other one) without being confronted in a potentially lethal way, he could suffer those consequences as well as lose his job. And while that prospect was certainly unappealing, the prospect of failing his task and allowing harm to befall his charge was equally unsettling. Not once in the ten years he'd been an Auror had he failed to protect someone, and he really didn't fancy putting a dent in his shining reputation – especially not because he couldn't take down a _Muggle_. The guys back at the DMLE would never let him live it down!

Decided, Kingsley brandished his wand, but before he could get off so much as a stunner, a sliver of light fell onto the ground between them, drawing both men's attention to the teenager standing just inside the doorway. There was a moment – just a moment – where all three stood still and surveyed each other, but that moment was over quickly, and in the blink of an eye the older Muggle had pelted across the lawn toward the younger.

Kingsley barely had time to yell at the boy to get back in the house before several things happened at once and such quick succession that if he hadn't known the teen was a Muggle he'd have thought he were a vampire.

Dropping the light, Mark gave no warning as he pulled a bat from seeming thin air and connected it to the Muggle intruder's husky frame. The bat was followed by a lightning fast series of kicks and punches, all of which connected quite solidly with the attacker's head and torso, and the older, heavier Muggle was trounced rather soundly in a manner of seconds.

Kingsley had never seen anything like it.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** I realize that it has been about two months since I last updated, and that this chapter is rather short, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. I really was trying to make it longer, but as you can see, I was unsuccessful.

**Twenty**

Vernon Dursley was sore, cold, and ashamed. Earlier this evening he had paid a visit to Number Six, Privet Drive in hopes of sneaking in and catching that _freak_ that had the audacity to call himself his relative unawares so that he could exact his revenge and finally wash his hands of the whole sorry mess. Instead, he snuck up on the house, took out the front guard, and cut the power, only to be thwarted in the end by a _teenager_. Yes, the kid was sixteen, and yes, he was on the wrestling team, but Vernon outweighed him by at _least _eighty pounds, and had studied kick-boxing himself in his youth – a 'youth' that for Vernon was only a scant ten years in the past. He even still worked out with the boys every now and again! For _Christ's_ sake, he should have been able to handle _one measly teenager_! He had taken out one of the adult guards easily enough, and the other had seemed too terrified of him to try anything. But _no_, it was just his luck that his meticulously thought-out plan was foiled by that meddling kid! Vernon half expected for a damn talking dog to come waltzing out of the house and attempt to unmask him, the situation was so unbelievable! He would have laughed until he _cried_ had he seen this happen on the telly – that was the only place he'd thought it _could_ happen! Talk about the 'underdog'! And the wretched boy hadn't even been there at all! Vernon had been sure that the _freak_ would have been in the house somewhere, but as it turns out, the runt was allowed to go to a holiday party with _his_ type.

The child was Satan – Vernon just knew it.

**Xxx**

Kingsley Shacklebolt was neither gay nor bisexual, but at this particular moment, he could have _kissed_ the Baker boy he was so proud of him. The teen had taken down a Muggle much taller and heavier than himself without even breaking a sweat. The decorated Auror briefly wondered if the kid was some kind of secret agent, like in those movies that Alastor liked to watch. He certainly _moved_ like one.

"Are you alright?" he asked the teen, who was now cautiously observing the unconscious man on the ground.

"Yes," came the curt reply. "Where's your partner?"

"Down. I think the Muggle caught him off guard."

Mark nodded. "That was probably where the lights and shouting came from. We should find him and get him inside. It's subzero out here, and if he's unconscious he could freeze to death."

"What do you want to do about the Muggle?" Kingsley inquired, nudging the large man with the toe of his boot.

Mark shrugged. "I guess we can tie him up and stick him in the basement until the cops get here." He suggested, scanning the dark street for the tell-tale flashing lights. "They should be here any minute now. I told Basil to call the police if I didn't ring him back in ten."

"Alright," Kingsley agreed, "it's a solid plan. _Incarcerous_. There, all trussed up, just like the beast he is. Come on, we still have to find Robards."

**Xxx**

He was being crushed. He was being smothered, and any minute now the strange, red-haired lady's bosom would suck him in and he'd never be seen again.

"Harry Potter!" she exclaimed for what he was sure was the hundredth time, "I'm so _honored_!"

"Will you unhand the poor child – you're crushing him! Look at him, he can hardly breathe!"

The woman released him rather suddenly. She seemed rather embarrassed, and tried to cover it up by smoothing his hair.

Harry ducked behind Draco's father, glad that the man was related to him somehow. "Thank you for saving me, Mr. Malfoy." He whispered, making the man in question smile just slightly.

"Think nothing of it," he replied, "I would have done the same for my own son."

Harry smiled. Despite his stuffy appearance, Mr. Malfoy was very kind, and Harry could tell he liked Draco every bit as much as Uncle Vernon liked Dudley.

"Why don't you and Draco go have some desert, hm? I'm sure a little cake couldn't hurt. After all, you are growing boys."

Harry beamed at him. He could have cake! Right now, even though it was after his bedtime! "Come on!" he cried, taking Draco by the sleeve and dragging him towards the desert table, "I _never_ get sweets this late! Do you think they'll let me take some home for my brother?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of _course_ they will! Look at how big that thing is – they can't possibly eat it all themselves."

Harry laughed. Maybe Draco wasn't so bad after all.

**Xxx**

Artemis was perturbed. The seven year old genius had been watching the same clip for over an hour, and he _still_ hadn't come up with an explanation for what he had seen. First, there were the shadows moving about the lawn. That wasn't anything new to him. Harry had told him about how the Minister of Magic had hired magical police officers to look after him and keep him and his family safe. Harry was famous, and Artemis knew that famous people needed bodyguards to look out for them. After all, _he _had Butler.

Since the dark figures were accounted for, Artemis focused of the flashing lights. They hadn't come from a police car – or any sort of vehicle for that matter – but they had seemed to be controlled by the figures. The first light, he'd deduced, was a flashlight. A third person had appeared, and they'd been the ones carrying it. The other lights had come from one of the bodyguards, and it appeared that the guard had somehow expected those lights to subdue the flashlight-man. They hadn't – the flashlight-man had dodged them all – and the confrontation had degraded into a fistfight. A minute or so later, one of the figures was lying on the ground unmoving, and the other was using a fallen tree branch to take out the power lines.

The second guard had yet to move.

"Artemis," his mother called, "Artemis, turn off the TV, it's time for bed."

"In a minute," he called. He was so close to figuring this out, he just knew it! "Five more minutes!"

"_Zero_ more minutes," a deeper voice commanded. "You heard your mother – it's bedtime."

"But I'm a _genius_!" he complained. "Geniuses get special privileges!"

"Yes," his father said, impatience seeping into his voice, "but staying up late isn't one of them. Now, turn off that television and get to bed like your mother told you."

"But _Dad_…."

"_Now_, Artemis, or you'll be a _grounded_ genius."

Huffing rather indignantly, Artemis stopped the tape and turned the monitor off. He'd almost had it, he just _knew_ it. "Stupid parents…" he muttered as he brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. "They have _no_ understanding of the word _important_!"


	21. Chapter 21

**Twenty-one**

Petunia Dursley was widow. Or at least, she _would_ be a widow, once she got her bony little hands on her husband again.

"Mrs. Dursley," the officer escorting her said, "your husband was apprehended at Number 6 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, approximately twelve past ten this evening. A complaint has been lodged by the residents, and your presence has been requested at the local police station by your husband. If you would be so kind as to accompany us?"

Petunia only stared at the imposing figure that had gone through all of the hassle to track down her new address in Ireland to tell her that her husband had had another run-in with the law.

"I thought we were finished with all the funny business surrounding Surrey. I see I was wrong. I always thought it was the boy that had caused all the neighborhood gossip, but now I'm starting to wonder if it wasn't Vernon they were always whispering about. Of course, the boy is _odd_, so it may well have been them both…" her voice trailed off in contemplation. "No matter," she said, dismissing those thoughts with a shrug of her shoulders, "I'll be rid of all this madness soon enough."

Excusing herself, Petunia phoned Gloria, her new neighbor, and arranged for her to watch Dudley while she was gone. In her suitcase she placed a keepsake box that she hadn't opened since she'd gotten back from her honeymoon ten years ago. She had assumed at the time that she wouldn't need its contents, but couldn't quite justify throwing it away. Now, she was glad she hadn't. She had come to Ireland to be free, damn it, and she would not have her fresh start usurped by a selfish husband who couldn't leave well enough alone.

Decided, she added one last item - a telephone directory - and closed the door behind her.

Petunia Dursley was looking for a fresh start, and she was determined to get it – whether Vernon liked it or not.

**Xxx**

Sirius Black was not known for being patient or selfless. In fact, when discussing the recently exonerated man, most would describe him as the complete opposite. It should come as no surprise then, that his idea of showing his 'love' for his godson involved the will of the boy's late parents and the legal system.

"You're doing _what_?" Narcissa questioned for the third time. If it weren't for the utterly appalled look on her face, Sirius would have thought his dear cousin would have gone temporarily deaf. As it were, she was shooting him daggers across the dining room table while her husband and son looked on.

"I'm taking Loire to court. I want custody of Harry." He answered calmly. Really, was it that hard to understand? He _was_ the boy's godfather, after all.

"But _why_? Harry seemed happy where he was. Don't you want that for him?"

"Of course I do. But more than I want him happy, I want him _safe_. Loire may love him, but love isn't going to keep crazed Dark wizards and Boy-Who-Lived fanatics from trying to abscond with him in the dead of the night."

"No, but the dozen Aurors stationed at his house will. Honestly Sirius, you're being irrational. Taking the boy away from his family isn't going to ender him to you." She argued.

"_Family_?" Sirius exclaimed angrily, "those _Muggles_ aren't any family to him! They just took him in!"

"And a good thing they _did_, because according to Lucius his remaining _blood_ relatives were horrifically abusive! Harry's _happy_ where he is Sirius! Can't you for one minute put what _you_ want aside and allow him that?"

The raven-haired man only shook his head in bemusement. "You don't get it, do you? James was my best friend; he and I were like _brothers_ we were so close. Now that he's gone, Harry is all I have left of him. I can't just sit back and allow his safety to be put in jeopardy like it is. Even if she means well, Loire allows the Minister to parade the poor child about like a show dog. He's a child, not a trophy."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes in anger. "That's big talk for a man who's was just trying to argue custody of that same child by saying that he was 'all he had left' of his _father_. Because that doesn't just _reek_ of infantile antics – 'he was _my_ best friend's, so _I_ should have him."

Sirius sputtered and turned red in anger. "I said no such thing!"

"No but you're thinking it! Harry isn't some toy to be fought over – he's a _child_. Getting custody of him won't bring his parents back from the dead!" she hissed venomously.

"I already lost James and Lily! I won't lose him too!"

"THIS ITSN'T ABOUT _YOU_! Harry has already lost _two_ parents to the Dark lord! Would you really be so callous as to steal away another just so _you_ can have him? You barely even _know_ him!"

Sirius only scowled at the blonde woman. "It's my decision, and I stand by it."

"Fine!" Narcissa snapped, rising from the table with elegance that most would be hard pressed to produce when content, never mind distressed. "But when he hates you for what you've done, you'll have no one to blame but yourself!"

A long, tense silence followed her rather dramatic exit, broken only by the scrape of a chair as Draco excused himself from the table. After a few moments more, Lucius finally broke the searing quiet.

"Well," he drawled, standing and placing his napkin atop his plate, "I'd better get going – I've things to attend to. Narcissa will calm down eventually, but I feel I must caution you, cousin. Be careful what you wish for, and how you go about acquiring it – sometimes the things you dreamed of can become a nightmare." With that, he swept out of the room, leaving Sirius with his suddenly traitorous thoughts.

**Xxx**

Despite what many individuals would like to believe, Cornelius Fudge was by no means an idiot. The middle son of a middle-class Wizarding family, the stocky, slightly balding man had learned early on that the world he lived in consisted of three kinds of people: those who are born into privilege, those who ascend into privilege, and those who once held privilege, but now found themselves in disgrace.

Cornelius was more the latter than the former.

While his Father had not done something so scandalous as marry a Muggle, he _had_ married a Squib, and that taint had flowed from his parents to their children. Growing up, Cornelius and his brother Constantine had been either scorned or pitied (and oftentimes both at once) for their parentage. And while Connie was the eldest and therefore the heir, Cornelius had no such title, and was, more often than not, shoved into a corner and forgotten about.

Cornelius had known even as a boy that Constantine's needs ranked higher on the scale than his own. He would inherit the family business someday, and (his parents hoped) bring glory upon the family again.

Imagine his parent's surprise when Connie ran off with his Muggle lover to become, of all things, an actor.

Devastated as his parent's were, Cornelius knew that with Constantine gone, _he_ would be the important one now. So, like any good Slytherin would, he used the situation to his advantage as best he could. Connie's contacts became his own, and Cornelius used his social charm to weasel his way into the good graces of several important Ministry officials. By the time Cornelius graduated Hogwarts he'd acquired not only a wealth of allies, but a position on the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. The Minister then, one Hadrian Bromstead, took a liking to him, and just before his retirement in 1962 had Cornelius promoted to the head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes – a position that he would hold for 28 years before being elected Minister himself in 1990.

Suffice to say that Cornelius's hard work had finally paid off, and he would not see all of it go to waste simply because some meddling ex-con couldn't leave well enough alone.

"Tell me why I should even deign your petition with the time of day, never mind a hearing." the portly Minister said, studying the man across his desk with disdain.

The man in question met his gazed with a determined one of his own, and replied "Because I'm his godfather."

"_Really_?" The Minister mocked, "Well, you didn't seem all that concerned with your duties as his godfather when his parents were killed. As a matter of fact, if I remember correctly, you left the poor child in the care of one Rubeus Hagrid – a known alcoholic – so that you could run off an confront Peter Pettigrew. Harrison Potter wasn't your main priority _then_, why should I believe that he would be so now? After all, you've only seen him a handful of time since you were released from Azkaban, and if the Aurors stationed at his house are to be believed, you haven't written him either.

"So, tell me again, Sirius Black, why I should support your position on his guardianship?"

"Because he's my godson." The man growled.

"So I heard. Is that your only argument? If so, it's not a very good one. You can file your petition if you like, but _I_ won't be supporting it. And with _your_ record, Wizarding Family Services wouldn't sign off on such a ludicrous idea even if I did. Get out of my office Black, and don't come back. I helped you prove your innocence; I've done my duty by you." That said, Cornelius gestured for the attending Auror to show the seething man out of his office.

Sighing, the Minister turned back to his paperwork. _"_Why is it that people assume that you're on their side just because you did your job and they benefited from it?" he mused aloud.

The portraits of the Ministers before offered no anwer.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **It's been a really, _really_ long time since I updated this. I started writing this chapter a long time ago, but with so many deaths and illnesses in the family I wasn't in the proper mindset to write anything, least of all something this light-hearted. Thus the reason for such a short update.

**Twenty - Two**

"I don't wanna go! I don't, I don't, I _don't_!"

Loire rubbed her eyes tiredly as she surveyed the screaming seven-year-old that was throwing a tantrum on her kitchen floor.

"Harry," she said tiredly, "we _have_ to go. I don't want to and you don't want to, but we _have_ to."

"I don't want to, and you can't make me!" the child yelled, tears of anguish streaming down his face.

Loire sighed. "Mark!" she called, hailing her oldest son from his station in the sitting room, "Turn off the telly and come help me will you?" The television set went quiet, and a moment later a tall, muscular teen appeared in the doorway.

"Harry," he said, crouching down beside the kitchen table and peering at the child huddled underneath, "we have to go now. If we don't go, they might make the decision without us. You don't want them to do that, do you? What if they take you away?"

"I don't want to go away!" Harry wailed, fresh tears springing to his eyes. "I don't want to _go_!"

"I know you don't Harry, none of us do. But we have to go, and all of this trouble you're giving Mum isn't going to change that. All it does is make her sad."

Harry sniffled, pulling on a strand of his unruly hair. "I don't want to make Mummy sad." he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"I know, but Mummy doesn't. Maybe you should come out and tell her yourself. I bet a hug will make her feel better."

"Okay."

Harry crawled out from underneath the table and stood, hands twisting the ends of his shirt. "I'm sorry Mummy!" he cried, flinging himself into Loire's arms. "I love you, I don't want for you to be sad!"

Loire only sighed and patted his head fondly. "I know Harry. I love you too. Now, it's time to go." Harry only whimpered and clung tighter to her. "Harry… Mark, go start the car, we'll be out in a minute."

"Mark's coming too?" Harry asked, peeking out from Loire's arms.

"Of course he is. You didn't think he wouldn't, did you?" Loire asked incredulously.

"Well… if Mark is going, I guess that's okay if I go too." he said, stepping away from his mother and heading out to the car. Loire sighed of relief. _'Crisis averted,'_ she thought.

Just then her car alarm went off, blaring loudly in the driveway.

"We're okay!" Mark yelled, Harry screeching for him to turn it off.

'_Or not,'_ she amended, locking the front door behind her. _'There's never a dull moment with the boys around.'_

**xxx**

"This special gathering of the Wizengamot is now in session. All rise for the Chief Warlock."

Everyone rose as Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and interim Chief Warlock (as Albus Dumbledore was still on probation) strode across the floor and took her seat.

"You may be seated."

Sirius waited impatiently for the more 'pressing' matters to be taken care of - although what exactly was pressing about Nessie being spotted by tourists _again_ was beyond him – all the while going over his custody petition. Despite what the Minister and Narcissa said to the contrary, he knew in his heart of hearts that Harry belonged in the magical world, not practically isolated in some Muggle suburb.

While Sirius was assuring himself that it was all for the best, another brunette was also thinking on the upcoming proceedings.

And he was very unhappy indeed.

**xxx**

Harry Potter was_ not_ happy. The seven-year-old fidgeted in his seat, twisting the cuffs on his robes until they looked as if they'd never lie flat again. His Mum kept shushing him and telling him to sit up straight and be still, but Harry couldn't help himself. He was much too busy worrying that the lady in the big chair would let Sirius Black take him away from his Mum and brother. How could he focus on his posture at a time like this? His _life_ might be ruined!

Stealing a glance over at the man in question, Harry wondered what an adult like him would want with a little kid anyway. Surely he didn't need anyone to play with? He'd come over on Halloween with Auntie Cissy and Draco; that must mean he had at least _one_ friend, right? So why did he want Harry? Why him and not someone his own age?

_Maybe he doesn't like people his own age. Maybe he only likes children,_ whispered the voice that Mark called the Voice of Reason. According to Mark, the Voice would help him stay safe.

Harry nodded. The Voice had a valid point. After all, didn't Draco say that Sirius lived with him? But, if he wanted a kid, then why was he only trying to take me? Why not ask for Mark too? Harry pondered curiously.

_Maybe,_ suggested the Voice, _it's because Mr. Black doesn't like older kids. Maybe he only likes little kids – like that bad man on the telly that the bobbies took away._

Harry paled. What if the voice was right? What if Sirius Black _was_ a bad man like the one on the telly? Would the lady in the big chair still let him be taken away? Would his Mum?

_Will she have a choice?_

Of course she would, Harry reasoned. After all she _was_ his mum. Mums get to have a say in things like that.

_What if she doesn't? What if things are different here?_

Harry told the Voice to shut up, and reminded him that Mark had saved him once and could do it again.

The Voice had nothing to say to that, and even thought it was quiet, Harry was still worried. He loved his Mum and brother, and vowed that if the lady let Mr. Black take him away he would be so mean that Mr. Black would send him home. Decided, Harry sent one more glare in the man's direction.

Sirius Black would rue the day he crossed Harry Potter. Harry would make sure of it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty-Three**

"Next we will hear the case of one Sirius Black, who wishes to petition for the custody of his lawful godson, Harry James Potter. Mr. Black, you have the floor."

_Finally!_ Sirius thought as he proceeded to the podium. _I thought they'd __**never**__ shut up about those darned regurgitating toilets!_

"Thank you Chief Warlock. As you all know, on the twenty-second of January in the year 1980 James and Lily Potter announced that Lily was with child. On the twenty-eighth of that same month I was sworn in as Godfather to their child and shortly thereafter they went into hiding, fearing for their lives and the life of their unborn child. On the thirty-first of July of that year, Lily gave birth to their son, whom they christened Harry James Potter, and a little over a year later on Halloween the Potters were betrayed by Peter Pettigrew and murdered by Voldemort himself. Harry was the only survivor, and if I had not been wrongly imprisoned he would have been living with me for all of these years, instead of those abominable Dursleys."

"True," an elderly wizard said, leaning forward as if to get a closer look at him. "And whose fault is it that you were conveniently at the scene of the crime? Surely it's not the Ministry's fault – it is, after all, a well known fact that you are now and have in the past been known for your reckless behavior. Why, you even chose to leave your godson in the care of an intoxicated man, rather than see to his safety or wellbeing. Why should this court pass his custody on to you? You can hardly say that you have a stable household ready and waiting for him, now can you?"

"James and Lily named me Harry's Godfather in their will," Sirius bristled, trying to keep his composure, "they obviously wanted him to grow up in the Magical world with me."

"That, I'm sure, was assuming you were capable of adequately providing for the child, and even then they did not have absolute faith in you as you'd like us to believe. The Potters left a list of _several_ individuals that should take over their son's guardianship should something happen to him," the elderly wizard countered, "you were simply one option on a list of many."

_Stay calm… calm…_ Sirius told himself. _Getting angry will only work against you._ "I may have been one on a list of many, but I was the _first_ one on the list and that shows that Lily and James preferred me over all others. Furthermore, your concern as to my ability to provide for Harry is unfounded; I have a very long record of financial stability-"

"Only because you've been in prison for the last six years-"

"-I can provide a stable home for Harry-"

"—You mean _Lucius Malfoy_ can provide a stable home for him-"

"—_And_," Sirius insisted after taking a deep, calming breath, "I'm a wizard."

"And how," inquired a stern-looking woman with gray hair, "does that prove anything? Muggles raise their Muggle-born children rather successfully all of the time – I see no reason for this to be any different. Are you saying being a wizard makes you a more capable parent?"

"Normally I would say no," he replied calmly, "but this is not a 'normal' child we're discussing, is it? Harry will need to learn how to run an estate, Wizarding history, proper Wizarding etiquette… and he's a celebrity – the Boy-Who-Lived to be exact! Everyone will want a piece of him, and it can't be guaranteed that all of Voldemort's supporters have been arrested – some of them went missing, never to be heard from again. Even if they all _had_ been rounded up, you'll always have those sick, thrill-seeking Dark wizards who think it'll win them a little prestige to have taken down the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry needs protecting – from _magic_ – and no Muggle can ever _really_ give him that."

"Perhaps not…" the witch agreed, "but the Aurors stationed about his home and neighborhood can. As a matter-of-fact they are all specially trained to do exactly that. Surely you realize that the boy is better off with several qualified individuals to look after his safety than he would be with only a single one to protect him – and one that is several years out of practice at that."

"I assure you madam, that I am more than capable of protecting Harry from any threats."

"Are you?" asked a stout, blonde man with horn-rimmed glasses, "And just how many times have you successfully protected Harry Potter since his parents' unfortunate demise?"

Sirius stared at the man stoically. _I am not going to let him hoist me by my own petard._ He thought angrily.

"Mr. Black?" the man prompted after a moment's silence. "Are you going to answer? Or are you not?"

"Of _course_ he isn't going to answer!" exclaimed the elderly wizard from earlier. "We all know the answer to that question: _**none**_! He has _never_ successfully protected the child in question! And he's ashamed to admit it, as he should be! That _Muggle_ (here the man pointed to Mark, who was watching the proceedings with wide, grim eyes) has protected Harry more times than Mr. Black has – more times than _anyone_ has, I reckon - and from what old Mad Eye told me he could easily take down any one of us with nothing more than a cricket bat and a table knife! With protection like _that_, what does the boy need a _magical_ guardian for? Cleaning charms?"

Sirius heart plummeted. _This isn't going as I planned __**at all**__._ "Well," he said trying to sound convincing, "I'm sure that if we ask Harry he'll agree that being around magic everyday would be better than only being around it a couple of days a week."

"Fine. Mr. Potter," said Madame Bones, "how do _you_ feel about the idea of living with Sirius Black?"

**xxx**

Harry stared at the Lady-in-the-Big-Chair. They were asking _him_ what _he_ wanted! _I hadn't thought that they would bother to ask me! Maybe I can convince them not to take me away!_

"Mr. Potter?"

"I don't want to _go_!" Harry wailed, much to his embarrassment. "I don't want to leave my family! I want to stay with Mummy and Mark! And go to school with my _friends_ and sleep over at their houses! I want to have Mummy tuck me in at night and play Super Mario Bros. with Mark! _Please _don't make me _**leave **_them!"

"Well," said the Lady-in-the-Big-Chair, "let's take a vote shall we? Those in support of Mr. Black's petition?"

Several people had their hand raised, but Harry noticed that none of them were people he'd met at the Christmas party. _Please, __**please**__ don't let them send me away!_

"And those opposed?"

Here, all of the hands that hadn't been raised went into the air, including Uncle Cornelius and the Lady-in-the-Big-Chair. Harry's eyes widened. _They'd won! They'd __**won**__! He wouldn't be sent away after all!_

"Whoopee!" Harry yelled, jumping up from his seat and doing a dance. "I get to stay! I get to stay!"

The Lady-in-the-Big-Chair banged her gavel and made it official, and Harry sang and danced all the way home.


End file.
